


Finifugal

by dracospungen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Disorder, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Multiple, Past Rape/Non-con, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Role-Playing Game, Slow Burn, the noncon content is not between sansa and petyr in case you're all wondering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-28 11:47:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 91,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12605908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracospungen/pseuds/dracospungen
Summary: Finifugal:“(adj.) hating endings; of someone who tries to avoid or prolong the final moment of a story, relationship, or some other journey“Petyr Baelish, a man well acquainted with economy and politics, works as a MI5 agent with dubious businesses on the side: playing with his pieces undercover using the name Littlefinger to get where he wants, has made a huge mistake. Talking Sansa Stark - the daughter of the late Ned Stark: previous leader of the Labour Party in England - into marrying Ramsay Bolton was a great idea, theoretically. To Mr. Baelish's dismay it didn't turn out quite as expected.There's an upcoming election on it's way, and Cersei Lannister is making sure that the Conservatives will win.Upon meeting again, Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark has to face their pasts, battling whatever is needed in order to come out of this mess alive.





	1. Unharmed

**Author's Note:**

> This fic began as a RP between me and @baedangillen on tumblr, but we ended up writing an entire story. I write as Petyr Baelish whilst @baedangillen writes as Sansa Stark. There are two tumblr blogs that go together with the fic: @mrpetyrbaelish (who writes as Petyr) and @mssansastark (who writes as Sansa).  
> Starting from chapter 11 baedangillen was no longer able to continue writing this story with me and I am writing this fic alone. Chapter 11 & 12 are still a co-work with baedangillen, all Sansa's lines written by them. Starting from chapter 13 I am writing everything myself and take full responsibility for her voice possibly changing.  
> It’s mostly based on the show, but there might be references to details only described in the books - since it's a modern AU we will take the freedom to change a few things from canon.  
> Sorry for any grammatical errors and mistakes. We have no betas, this fic is only edited by me. We take no credits for the characters since they are all owned by GRRM and his affiliates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were ever created in the story. We will get to the “presence”, bear with us!  
> This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional abuse.

_Chapter 1:_   **UNHARMED**.  


* * *

**PETYR  
**  
Petyr tapped his foot against the floor when dialling Sansa’s number. He hadn’t called her for quite some time now, when was even the last time? After his horrible investment in Ramsay Bolton? He should have known better. Ramsay was a criminal, even if they hadn’t been able to pin him down as one yet. Petyr knew better than believing the media’s talk about him, how he was brilliant at his work at the bank he had taken over after his father’s death - which if you believed the news, he had nothing to do with. Petyr looked at his screen again, and put the speaker on. This could go bad, really bad. He wasn’t sure how much Sansa thought he had known already, he wasn’t even sure what had happened between her and Ramsay, which was something that still made him uncomfortable. He should have known. He should definitely have known. Petyr found himself both wanting Sansa to pick up, but also not wanting to hear her voice ever again.  
  
****

* * *

**  
** **SANSA**  
  
Sansa was just finishing her shower. Her whole body ached from that yoga session. Her sister was right, that french teacher can really make you feel… reborn. She finished drying herself with the towel, and started putting on her body cream. She then felt it. Right in the back of her neck. The mark. Unspeakable for her, unknown for everyone. A body mark that will always remind her of the violence and humiliation and pain that she had to go through on that frightful wedding night with… him. He did that to her. As if the memories weren’t enough, she had to endure feeling it every time, everyday. The phone ringing brought her back to reality. She hurriedly dressed - she still had issues being naked, even when no one was around. She did not dare to think about being naked in front of someone else.  
  
Whoever it was on the other side surely wanted to talk to her as it kept ringing and ringing. With one quick move she picked it up as she laid down on the sofa.

* * *

**PETYR  
**  
He sighed at the tone of his phone still calling out into thin air. Petyr leaned forward and pressed his fingers against his temples. Everything had seemed so perfect between the two of them. He had even felt her lips on his for a brief moment after that damned kiss he partly truly regretted giving her. He should have been more cautious, it had almost gotten both of them killed by that mad women he had married. There were so many decisions lately that slowly ate at Petyr. He didn’t like it, it wasn’t like before. Once he wouldn’t have cared about a boring girl, he wouldn’t have thought twice about giving her up to her fate. What had become of him? Petyr let out another sigh he didn’t know he had been holding in. He kept remembering those soft lips on his. He wasn’t sure if it was something she had wanted, or if it was something she had felt as a necessity. Maybe it didn’t even mean anything to her, it certainly shouldn’t have meant anything to him. He was Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger. Littlefinger didn’t care about no one except himself, everyone knew that.  
  
“Pick up…”, he whispered to the phone as if someone could hear him on the other end.  
  
Petyr just wanted to hear her voice, and Littlefinger wanted to know that it wasn’t all for nothing.  
He hung up himself after another, what was it, only a minute, or two? He could have sworn he’d been calling her for the last hour at the very least.  
He pressed in Brienne’s number instead, the only one close to Sansa that he knew of. Her voice was brisk in his ear.  
  
“Brienne”, the voice said.  
  
“It’s Baelish, don’t hang up, I need to see Sansa, I’ll be with her in two hours…”  
  
Brienne Tarth was quick, “Mr. Baelish, you have to understand, it’s late, miss Stark could be sleeping…”  
  
“- don’t get me wrong, this is not negotiable, I’ll be meeting her in two hours straight and that’s it. I’ll come to her”, he thought for a moment, “see to that she’s well dressed and know that I’m coming”  
  
“Why don’t you call her yourself?”, Brienne asked after some time.  
  
Petyr was surprised that she hadn’t hung up on him yet. He knew how much that women hated him, she had done so since the very start.

“I did”, he replied, feeling the air going out of him.   
  
“I take it she didn’t pick up, so why can’t you just take a clue for once and understand that she might not want to see you”  
  
“As I said”, Littlefinger replied when Petyr was too tired to discuss it any further, “it’s not negotiable, I’ll be at her place in two hours”  
  
Petyr hung up before any of them could say ‘goodbye’ and went for a shower. He wasn’t sure what he would receive from Sansa, but at least he could be properly dressed.

* * *

**SANSA  
**  
“Hello?” and the line went dead. 'Damn… almost’, Sansa thought. Whoever it was, would call again. Besides, who uses phones to actually call people nowadays? She stood up so fast she forgot about her tired limbs. She could feel all of her body cringing as she walked over to the fridge. What could she have? Everything looked so good from her perspective. A few weeks had passed since she started her diet. Not that she wasn’t happy with her current weight, it was more about, how did the media call it? Healthy choices? Her sister would be so proud. 

The phone began to ring again. “See? Wasn’t wrong about getting that call again”, she said to herself, “Hello?” Sansa asked almost amusingly.   
  
“Miss Sansa”, a voice she recognised.   
  
A reassuring one as well, a voice belonging to Brienne Tarth, her personal security, although Sansa always preferred the title ‘guardian angel’. This time, there wasn’t anything reassuring about her voice.  
  
“Brienne, is something wrong?”, dreading her reply.   
  
Nothing good can come from your personal security when they call you at night.  
Brienne knew she had to be direct. When it was about Petyr Baelish, Miss Sansa liked it that way.  
  
“Baelish, Miss Sansa” she waited a moment in case Sansa wanted to say something, but nothing came from the other side of the line. “He’s coming to your place”  
  
Still nothing. ‘What?! What do you mean?! What happened?!’. That’s the answer she expected to hear, but it never came.   
‘After all this time. He wants to see me. Petyr Baelish wants to see me again. After everything that has happened’. After what happened with his wife, her aunt. A woman blinded by jealousy and no self esteem. After what happened with… Him. She dared not speak his name. After all, it was Petyr’s fault. Wasn’t it? It was his idea, introduced them, told them it would benefit both of them, publicly and personally. Did he know? Did he know the kind of man He would turn out to be? After all, Petyr Baelish was Littlefinger, and Littlefinger did not look after anyone other than himself. She learned that just too late, much to her regret.  
  
Wait, was it him, the one who had been calling? It would make sense, he was after all an old fashioned man. A man who would care enough to announce he was coming to visit.  
  
“You want me to stop him Miss Sansa?” Brienne inquired.   
  
One part of Sansa didn’t want to see him, she couldn’t stand being in the same room as him… but there was another part of Sansa that did. The brave and courageous part of her wanted to face him again. She was full of pain and regret for taking his advice all those years ago, that she actually wanted to listen to whatever he had to say. The only difference between all those years and now, is that he had no power over her. Not anymore. She wanted him to look at her eyes. That would definitely force him to having to find the words to speak to her. In their last years together she could feel him struggling whenever he spoke to her.  
  
“Miss Sansa? Are you still there?” Brienne’s voice brought Sansa back.  
  
“I’m still here Brienne” Sansa replied calmly.  
  
“Give the order and I’ll make sure he won’t disturb you for the rest of the night”, Brienne sounded convincing. Sansa loved her for that.  
  
“No”, she knew Brienne would argue with her, try to reason with her, but this needed to happen. “Let him through”.  
  
Brienne waited for a second, hoping for Sansa to have a change of heart but silence reigned at both ends of the line. “Very well Miss Sansa. He had one request”  
  
“Only one?” Sansa mused.  
  
“He wished for you to be ’well dressed’” Brienne replied.  
  
“Oh” Sansa was surprised. “I see”. She was really looking forward to their meeting now.

* * *

**PETYR**

It rained when Petyr got out of the car. He made a nod to the black window and they drove away as per requested. The security team that worked for Littlefinger was one he was very proud of and had built himself. Many had tried to make it ‘easy’ for him, wanting to advise and give him assets that were famous for being good at their jobs, but Petyr didn’t want people who were good at their jobs. He needed the best. People who realised that morals had to be set aside for great things to be achieved. Those had to be clever enough to be able to help him and want to work on his side, but stupid enough or with a lack of ambition so that their own greed wouldn’t get the better of them (no one could turn on Littlefinger, he always saw to that). Therefore he wasn’t afraid to go this close by car to Miss Stark. His people were smart enough to always look out for people following them and always taking longer ways than necessary when he needed to so somewhere in private.   
  
Brienne Tarth welcomed him before he had even gotten to the same street as Sansa lived on.  
  
“Mr. Baelish”, she greeted him, stern.  
  
Her piercing blue gaze tried to pin him down. He could feel her judgement several feet away.  
  
“Brienne”, Petyr replied, not caring about formalities.  
  
This was typically him, the mixture of being overly formal with certain things and extremely easy-going and informal during other occasions.  
  
Brienne kept staring at him for a while but apparently Sansa hadn’t been as resilient as this one. This was a good sign, wasn’t it?  
  
She opened the door for him, as if letting him even touch the door itself might stain it forever. He liked the look of that. Littlefinger smiled in triumph.  
  
Petyr went inside, with a very slow pace.  
  
“Miss Sansa”, Brienne’s voice said loud and clear from behind him.   
  
He heard her close to door behind them. A part of him had hoped that she would have let them talk alone. Petyr wanted to bite his lip but Littlefinger refused him. What kind of image would that be? Was he actually this anxious? He truly wasn’t, it must have been the rain that made him uneasy. He was soaked and his freshly ironed suit looked quite a few shades darker than it’s actual colour. Why hadn’t he brought an umbrella? He couldn’t remember. Petyr could feel Littlefinger’s rage within for being so dense. One time retaining his image was one of his most important tasks. 'What have become of you?!’, Petyr didn’t know. He had asked himself many times. If only he had an answer to that, he could have driven whatever it was out of his way long ago. But could he, really now? No matter what it was that was standing in Littlefinger’s way?

* * *

**SANSA  
**  
A walking closet filled with the finest and most delicate of fabrics. Dresses other women would fight for, she had the most exquisite of them. Dresses that could very well help sealing a business deal and at the same time pick up a few phone numbers on her way back to the car of hopeless men who thought they had a chance.   
  
She’d go for this one. The black one. Baelish liked them, she remembers just too well. The not-too-short but not-too-long dresses. A soft satiny fabric with half sleeves and a feminine bateau neckline that felt good against her delicate skin.  
Who knows? She might even go out after her encounter with Baelish. When she put on this dress she felt unstoppable and sexy. It would be such a waste to use it just for a few minutes of conversation. Little did she know Baelish would take much longer than that.   
  
Sansa was just finishing putting on her dress when she glanced through the window outside in the street and saw him, being greeted by Brienne. ‘Bless her’,  she thought. She also had a feeling Brienne wasn’t going to leave them both alone. Sansa watched them approaching the building. Baelish was walking with his usual pace. Confident and calm. A man sure of himself. She always liked that of him.   
  
Almost imitating Baelish’s pace, that red haired woman sat down at her dressing table to apply her make up and decide what hairstyle suited her best. She knew they’d be up in no time, but she had no urgency in welcoming them. After all, ‘a gentleman always waits for his lady’. Isn’t that what he said to her once?   
  
Sansa heard Brienne’s voice announcing them and the sound of a closing door. He was here. On the the other side of the room, he was waiting for her. She took a minute or so to finally stand up- ouch. Shit! She always forgot about her aching body.   
  
As she opened the door she immediately felt Baelish’s eyes on her. Those piercing blue eyes of his she often feared and longed for at the same time. What was behind that cold stare she often wondered. She walked to where he was in a slow and feminine style, and in every step she could feel his eyes all over her. Like in that New Year’s Eve Party he held at his country mansion. A party Sansa was dreading to attend to. A social gathering that would join the most powerful men and women in the country. People Sansa knew nothing about. Her aunt and uncle would be the only familiar faces that night. But she remembered now - as she will always remember - the moment she began walking down the stairs. Hundreds of people, talking, laughing, some cheering and a few braves who wanted to give it a try at dancing.  
She remembered almost too well, the smell of cigarette began increasing as she walked down. Halfway through the staircase she felt being watched. One always feels when one is being watched, it’s like the body? Wait, wasn’t it the soul that puts our bodies in alert warning us of possible perils? Was that what the sixth sense does? She often wondered.  
She looked through the crowd, wanting to put an identity on whoever was making her feel unsettled. She was supposed to be ignored tonight - or at least that’s what she longed for would happen anyway.  
Sansa saw many faces. ’They’re clearly enjoying themselves’ she thought to herself. And then she saw it. That… face. Not just any man. That face belonged to the man that ‘saved’ her once. He was looking directly at her. She was walking down more slowly now and his eyes were still fixed on her. Was that a smirk? Sansa thought she saw a quick and small one light up his face.  
She remembered well, yes. Much to her surprise, she remembered not because of being the night she met ‘him’, but because that was the first time she could feel what it was to be desired. She just never expected it from Petyr Baelish, her uncle after all, to be the originator of such a feeling.  
  
She got to where she wanted, with enough space of separation between their bodies. His eyes fixed on hers. And Brienne right behind them, her body against the door. Sansa’s feeling about Brienne wasn’t wrong. She was going to stay there.  
Sansa turned her attention to Petyr Baelish now. His eyes still on hers. Had he lost his words? Was she really going to be the first to start the conversation? It looked like it.  
  
“Hello Mr. Baelish”, Sansa said.

* * *

**PETYR**

Sansa’s delicate voice broke the silence. She had taken several minutes until finally gracing them with her presence. He felt proud, in a weird way, that this girl, this girl he had first seen when she was merely 13 years old, she had grown so much, and very much to Petyr’s liking. This was his creation, wasn’t it? It was all his doing? Littlefinger wanted to take credit for it all, but Petyr knew deep down, that this was the girl that had been hiding and waiting inside of her from the very beginning. The world had been cruel to her and she had started to learn how to fight it back.  
  
Petyr finally broke their locked eyes to take in her entire appearance. The woman in front of him was not 13 anymore, she was beautiful, with curves sculpturing her silhouette to something that could only be described as art, angelic shining dark red hair that framed her face and cheekbones in a bewitching way. He could ravish in her beauty for hours if she would let him. He had seen beautiful women before, hundreds and hundreds that filled the rooms of his devious side businesses, but none could steal his breath like this artistry that was standing right in front of him.  
  
Petyr liked the dress she was wearing, it reminded him of the one she had designed herself for the New Year’s Eve Party that now seemed so very long ago. That was the first time he had felt it, some kind of admiration for the naive little girl she had been just a few moments ago. It had stirred an interest in him that he hadn’t even known he still had. That interest, of course, was only due to the potential she now had. With Sansa being a politician working alongside him rather than underneath him worked to his benefits. He could manipulate her to move in the direction he wanted her and she could in her turn move the pieces. Sansa would prove a lot more useful as someone who was powerful, he would never have any use for a pathetic little girl, but for Sansa Stark, yes, she could prove very useful indeed.  
  
Sansa Stark kept her gaze on him and Petyr felt relieved, relieved that the one and only important child of Catelyn Stark was standing in front of him, unharmed.  
  
“Sansa”, he began, he felt like he had been stumbling through a dark forest and finally saw the light of the day in the horizon, the clear sky and the waves of the ocean reflect the light back and into his eyes.  
  
“You don’t know how happy I am to see that you managed to escape Ramsay’s hands. I feared the worst when the news of your whereabouts reached my ears”, Petyr could still remember it, the feeling within him when they had told him that Sansa had escaped imprisonment.  
  
First he had been overwhelmed with triumph, but not did it last long when the news continued, the man from his security team telling him that they didn’t know where she was, they said it was as if she’d vanished from earth - once again, and the cold numbness that took over his body.  
  
“…and I can’t express how glad I am to see you, standing here, unharmed”.


	2. Then I will die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were ever created in the story.  
> This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional abuse.

_Chapter 2:_ **THEN I WILL DIE**.  
  


* * *

  
**SANSA**  
  
She could feel his eyes on her, resting on every curve of her body.  
There were some things that never changed.  
  
“Sansa”  
  
There it was, the hoarse voice of a traveller, a self-made man who taught her of the do’s and dont’s in politics. She was grateful after all. He taught her how to outsmart others and Sansa knew she was learning from the best.  
  
“You don’t know how happy I am to see that you managed to escape Ramsay’s hands-“ and that’s when Sansa felt as if a cold dagger ripped her stomach apart. She could see Petyr’s lips moving but she did not hear it’s message. Ramsay’s hands. Those he used to grope and invade parts of her body she did not give consent to, but then again, there was little you could do when your husband, puts a knife in the back of your head on your wedding night. It felt surreal back then, and it feels surreal now. She was starting to feel sick.   
  
“-express how glad I am to see you, standing here, unharmed", Petyr said.

And Sansa felt it again.

Did he just say ‘unharmed’?

“Unharmed?” Sansa replied back. “That’s an interest choice of a word”. 

She moved past him and towards the bar. Her hands grabbed a glass and started pouring whiskey. From where she was standing, Brienne could see her hands were trembling. She was prouder than her mother Catelyn; pouring whiskey just to avoid showing off that Petyr Baelish’s words had an unwanted effect on her.

“Did you know about Ramsay?” Sansa asked calmly as she turned around to face him. Taking a sip from her glass while she waited for his answer.  


* * *

 

 **PETYR**  
  
Petyr noticed her change in moods, it was obvious, or at least to him. Littlefinger wanted to make a remark on it, saying something about how she had to learn how to conceal her true feelings - not much unlike himself.  
  
Her voice seemed distant, as if she was not fully there in the room with him and Brienne. Petyr could tell by the way she threw his own words back at him, that something was not right. The single word ‘unharmed’ continued to echo within him. Petyr couldn’t see her face nor her hands but he could hear the liquor being poured into a tumbler. He wanted to reach out to her, hold her tight to let her know that no one was ever going to lay their hands on her again, but he couldn’t do it. He was Littlefinger, and Littlefinger would never ponder over irrational feelings. Petyr felt weak. He hated it, and he hated himself for it.  
  
“I miscalculated, made a horrible, horrible mistake to underestimate a stranger.”

* * *

  
**SANSA**  
  
Sansa kept her eyes locked on Petyr.   
  
“A stranger? That’s weird, considering you know everything. Isn’t that what you do, what you’re paid to do, Mr. Baelish?”  
  
She took another sip of whiskey. God she hated the taste. She just had to keep her cool, show she was in control.  
  
“If you didn’t know, you’re an idiot” Petyr’s eyes were fixed on hers. She wanted her words to have an effect on him. If they were, he surely knew how to hide them. “Now, if you did know - that makes you my enemy”  


* * *

**PETYR**  
  
Something seemed off, not to mention the fact that Sansa was drinking. Had she ever touched alcohol in front of him before? Well, that one time he had taken her to a pub but she had never drunk it. But it was something else too. Petyr knew he had made a horrendous mistake - to trust Ramsay’s own words. He still remembered standing beside Ramsay Bolton that evening when he was handing over Sansa to them. It was not goodbye, after all, Petyr had decided to meet her again, even though she would not ever believe any of that anymore, he really had. Petyr had thought of a plan, something that would lead her back to politics again, to take her father’s place. But he hadn’t known about Ramsay. It was true, as awful as it sounded. Petyr Baelish hadn’t comprehended what a ruthless human being Roose’s son really was. Petyr felt numb, he could still hear Bolton’s first born son’s voice telling him; “I want to make her happy”.  
  
Petyr had wanted to believe that, he wanted that as well. He wanted for Sansa to finally, finally be happy again.  
  
“I’ve grown quite fond of Miss Stark during our missions. She’s suffered enough”, Petyr had actually said it, expressed some sort of empathy for Sansa Stark in front of a stranger. Had he ever even reflected over himself?  
  
“I’ll never hurt her, I promise you”  
  
Standing in front of Sansa, Petyr felt his body almost betraying him, almost shivering when remembering those very words. Ramsay had promised him, but who was Petyr Baelish, if not the person who lied about everything to everyone - maybe even to himself? Maybe he had wanted to believe that promise and chosen not to see him for what he really was? Only to be able to reach his goal? For a brief moment Petyr felt like leaving it all behind. All of it. Every single lie.  
  
“No one will ever hurt you again”, Petyr said, ” I’ll protect you, I promise. You must believe me when I promise you that I will”, and for once Petyr felt like he actually meant that, that this wasn’t another one of his lies, that this was as sincere as he had ever been.  


* * *

**SANSA**  
  
Sansa let him finish. She felt like he was being sincere this time, but she also felt uncertain. He was the master of disguise after all. He was used to getting his way, saying what needed to be said to achieve whatever latest desire he had on his long list.  
  
There was something else she felt, and she did not like it. Did her heart skip a beat when she heard those words? “I will protect you”. Four powerful words that could help pain, fear and shame go away. The pain she always felt whenever she remembered any of Ramsay’s manners. The fear she had of being alone. Sometimes she couldn’t help but feel unsafe, even in her own home. And the shame, that feeling she will always carry with her for not having been able to do something. She should have done something, right? Could she though? She was not strong, but anyone else would have fought back? Why didn’t she fight back? She just… accepted it. Like a good girl. Just what an old fashioned wife would have done.   
  
Those four words… what any girl would die to hear, especially when they came from a man they loved. A man that would protect them from harm and fear. Those words didn’t come from a man she loved, but from a man who made it all happen. That was her logic talking.  
  
Logic came to her aid and helped her shut down whatever feelings were making her heart skip.  
  
“I don’t need your protection Mr. Baelish. I have Brienne. She’s more than enough. Plus, unlike you, she has never let me down…” Sansa replied, coldly.  


* * *

**PETYR**  
  
Petyr felt that last sentence like a stab, like the very one that had already left a scar from navel to collarbone. He could feel Littlefinger fighting within him, wanting to take over, shut it all down for him and act out whatever was necessary to get a grip of things before he would say or do something he might regret, but Littlefinger also knew that it wasn’t as easy as that. Sansa had to be handled with care, by someone who might have a correlation to what she was most probably talking about. Littlefinger wanted to use that part of Petyr to get to her, the emotional part of him that had rarely been in use, not even for the good of manipulation. Sansa always seemed to bring out sides of him he didn’t even known he had. What was it with this girl? What made her so different from anyone else?   
  
The side of him that was Littlefinger seemed to support his weight, if not, Petyr might have fallen down to his knees. 'She has never let me down’, it still seemed to roar inside his head.  
  
“I would never hurt you”, Petyr felt as if he had lost his words, “I can’t make it undone”, he had to come up with something better.  
  
“I will do anything, anything that’s in my power, I’ll do it. You just have to name it”.  


* * *

**SANSA**

What was going on? Sansa started to feel dizzy. Was it the whiskey? Petyr Baelish was acting like she had never seen him before. Was he… begging? Of course he’s not the kind of a man who would actually “beg”, but his insistence on the matter, the urgency in which he wanted to see her this night was starting to make sense to Sansa. He wanted some kind of absolution. Well, there wasn’t absolution without crime.  
  
“You know Mr. Baelish, sometimes we hurt people without even touching them. Sometimes our decisions are far more powerful than weapons” Sansa said looking directly in his eyes.  
  
An idea suddenly crossed her mind. “You’ll do anything you say?” Sansa wanted to know how far was Petyr Baelish, the man who called himself Littlefinger, how far was this man capable of going down tonight.  
  
“What if I ask Brienne, to shoot you - right in the head?” Sansa asked, almost amusingly, “What if I told you I want you to die here and now?”  


* * *

**PETYR**

“Then I will die”, Petyr didn’t hesitate in his answer, he didn’t waste any minutes on contemplating what the consequences might be, there was after all only one way out of this, if this was what Sansa wanted, but he wouldn’t let her take his pride. He would not face the humiliation of what Brandon Stark had caused him so many years ago.  
  
\- or this, was what Littlefinger told himself; that he was only replying with the best of answers - better make it quick, make it reliable - make it sounds as if he truly meant what he had said just a few moments ago, because this was a truth Petyr could bear, not; that his voice might have broken if he hadn’t pushed the words out of him before he could think twice, or that he would actually, willingly die for this woman.  


* * *

**SANSA**

He didn’t think about his answer, Sansa observed, and she appreciated that.  
  
A few seconds passed. Dead silence between both of them, staring at each other, with Brienne in the back, more than ready for any command Miss Sansa had for her. She’d be more than happy to end Petyr Baelish. She never liked him, and never will.  
  
Sansa needed to say something. But she couldn’t think of anything. Nothing came out. That answer, she never expected Petyr Baelish to show off this… was it compassion? Regret? This is the first time ever she had seen him like this. And she’d been with him for a long time. She’d seen him deal with other people, how well he handled himself in meetings, saying exactly what the client wanted to hear. She even saw how he dealt with things inside family.  
  
Sansa heard what she needed to hear, and she felt, that there was nothing more to discuss.  
  
“Brienne, would you see Mr. Baelish out?”  
  
As Brienne opened the door Sansa returned to her room without looking back. As much as she wanted to see his face, see if he was looking at her.  
  
She stood by the window, looking over the beautiful city of London. It was dark now, but still beautiful.  
Sansa felt strange. Somehow, there was a piece of her that felt peaceful. She had known that this encounter was bound to happen eventually, and that things would be said, she had even dreaded that those things would have taken a worse turn, one where tears and insults would invade the space of the living room she called ‘home’ for now.  
  
But that night, after her conversation something exceptional happened. Something that Sansa would never admit. That night Petyr Baelish stopped being “the man who lied, the man who never protected her" and turned into “the man who would die for her”.


	3. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were ever created in the story.  
> This chapter is NSFW, with references of sexual and emotional abuse.  
> Please thread carefully, this chapter is meant to make you feel uncomfortable - if you’re easily triggered and want more information about this chapter please contact me. Some things are rather explicit.

_Chapter 3:_ **BURN**.  
  


* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr was sitting on the edge of his bed. It was entirely black, the headboard, the duvets, even the sheets. One black void that was his bed in an exceedingly white room. Petyr had ordered the colour for the walls himself, it was a few drops of blue that made the difference. It made the room seem forever colder than it actually was, no matter the season.   
Petyr had thought back to his meeting with Sansa quite the more times than he would had liked.  
  
It had still rained when he was guided out into the night of London, not sure whether to feel lousy because he hadn’t been able to turn the events around, manipulate himself out of the situation he had found - and to his annoyance: gotten - himself in, or if he should really just feel relieved - frankly for still being alive. Petyr had not felt a victorious man walking down the street away from Sansa Stark’s safe house. He had texted his people that he wouldn’t come home that evening.  
  
Petyr had stayed out all night, first wandering the street of London and going by night bus and then tube to get rid of any potential minion of God knows who - the Lannisters? They were always to be distrusted. Petyr never travelled by foot, or by bus or by train. He often stuck by his car, not that he felt extremely attached to it, if at all, but rather because it was more comfortable and it suited his image: Littlefinger, in his jet black Aston Martin. But there he was, a man with the whole world in his pocket, out on the street with his wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He felt like a wet cat, alone in the street, and yet he didn’t feel like returning home - at all.  
  
His feet had unconsciously taken him to one of his places, one of the many illegal side businesses he kept. Maybe it was a bad habit of his, to not sell it when he knew what was at stake if someone would find out about it, but then again, did he do anything that wasn’t illegal at this time? And the money that kept running into his pockets sure made it worth it, and so did the information that came with it. Petyr opened the door to the Fingers. He had named it after a place in Ireland close to where he was once born. He had later moved away from Malin Head, never to return it seemed, after his parents had died. He had become a foster child, travelled through Ireland and finally he came to Dublin, to the Tullys, where he had remained his entire childhood.  
  
The Fingers was located low beneath the surface of Earth, in a basement with thick walls and many dark passages. It was complicated to get there. One wouldn’t have suspected a thing when going down the first couple of stairs. There were several ways to get inside, and Petyr always used the one entrance not even the usual staff knew about. He had seen to that he would have his own door, to be able to slip in and out as he liked without anyone noticing - it also meant that if someone was to find out, they wouldn’t be able to find him. He would not go down with this place.  
  
Petyr could hear the moans faintly in the distance. This was a place that civilians wouldn’t even imagine existed anymore. The cries got louder as he approached the first room. Concrete walls stretched many feet ahead of him. Petyr stood at one end of a very long empty corridor. This was the passage no one knew about, he had hired and fired architects to see to that no one truly knew how this was constructed. There were holes in the walls, small enough to be able to see what was going on inside if you leaned in and only watched with one eye, or for you to hear any words that were spoken, but also small enough for the person inside to not be able to spot it. Petyr had designed this place himself, even the interiors, covering the walls with thick fabrics to soften the loud noises within and also to make a dark spot in a wall inextricable. Petyr had often found himself coming back to this place when something didn’t go well. A place for him to be alone and think, watch and to gather information. A place to get his mind off things he rather not think about at the moment. The people coming to the Fingers were no usual men or women; they were all powerful, coming from all places around the world. The employees all talked English, but he had people of all kinds working here, but what was always in their contract was that they had to give him information. They had to tell him everything if the client did not speak English, everything, in order to cover up that he actually only looked for the stuff of real importance, so that to them, he or the other people that worked at the Fingers to extract information only seemed to be weird perverted guys they wouldn’t mind any more than an ant, hiding in a corner of a room. The actual men and women who had to see to the clients needs were not to suspect a thing, and if they did, other people that worked for Littlefinger took care of that as well.  
  
Petyr closed one eye and looked into the room with the other, spotting a young girl with beautiful silky red hair and a man twice her age and size. Petyr felt himself harden. He didn’t deny it, some things did affect his body whether he wanted it or not. One day he might have fought it, doing everything not to feel or react, but not anymore. Those days were over. Petyr didn’t feel ashamed. He just listened, not touching anything of himself unlike what most other men would have done in his place, and moved on to the other room, listening.  
  
Petyr sighed at his own empty bedroom, where he had nothing but this King sized bed. He fell back onto it and fell into a distressing sleep haunted by nightmares.  


* * *

**SANSA**  
  
It was the lack of air that woke Sansa. Her room was pitch black. The street lamps from outside her window did not throw in any light whatsoever. A big room, gifted with wooden furniture. The walls coloured with dark green, adorned with pictures taken by the late Ned and Catelyn’s first born daughter.   
  
Sansa was trying to calm her heartbeats and gather her breath back. “Just… breath… you’re safe… ” Her mind was reassuring her. She could feel the sweat running down her back. “Breath… he can’t touch you… not anymore”. She was slowly recovering her breath and her heartbeats were returning to their normal pace.   
  
“Is every night going to be like this?”   
  
Silence. Just her mind talking to her. And then she broke, she started crying. Sansa couldn’t take it anymore. The breath she recovered was now being used to squeeze out all of her emotions. She preferred doing it here though, away from someone else’s sight.   
  
She took the sheets resting on her legs and covered herself with them. The woman, whose long red hair drew more than a few looks wherever she went, who made her parents feel so proud when she had told them she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps and pursue a career in politics, was now a complete mess. She was fed up and weary that her usual nightmare would never stop coming back to her every night, and it seemed as if it always would. Because her nightmare would never be just that, a bad dream, as much as she wanted it to be. A bad dream could easily be forgotten when the sun came up. This nightmare, unfortunately, was never going to go away with sunrise, because it wasn’t a nightmare in the first place. Sansa was dealing with a flashback, a vivid remembrance of the violence her body had been forced to feel. What Sansa didn’t know is that a flashback like hers, a memory of a terrible trauma will never go away. It could be quiet down, make your mind learn how not think of it and how to live with it. Like putting it in a locked chest. It was always going to be there, but you were the only one reaching to it and not the other way around. Of course this took time, it wasn’t easy to put away something like that. It takes a lot of courage to face an episode your mind was constantly reminding you of. To understand what happened, and why it happened. Free your mind from feeling guilty, a self blame that would start having the ‘What if’s and ‘I should have’s as lovely companions. It took time, yes. And patience to seal off a flashback like that. Problem is Sansa didn’t have anyone to go to. Brienne was her personal bodyguard, but she wasn’t that close to her that she felt safe venting out what was happening with her troubled mind. There was also the issue of trusting others. Someone like her, with her position in politics couldn’t go to the first person she liked to seek help. She had enemies that wanted her gone. Not gone like- killed, or that’s what she thought. ‘Gone’ as ‘removed’ from her current stand from the Labourists Party. These enemies would be more than interested in using whatever information they had on her to use it against her. Thank God her flashback was a damn secret only known by another person, the perpetrator himself, and the richest man in England according to yesterday’s press. After an unfortunate ski accident, the youngest of the Bolton’s took over his father’s business at the Central Bank in London. Her husband was now a rich orphan, and she knew he was looking for her. He must have known she’d be in tomorrow’s session. Sansa knew he would have the wits to make his appearance to discuss her party’s finance in the upcoming elections. She was going to try to sneak out, plus she had Brienne with her. She was safe.   
  
Her mind, busy now checking her schedule, kept her awake for the rest of what was left of the night. The first lights of sunrise were starting to discern on her windows. Her body wanted her to stretch. Sitting up she looked out. ‘Good morning London. Ok. Here we go’.  


* * *

**PETYR**  
  
There were several errands to be made this day. Petyr had not slept well - but really now, when did he ever? He would never admit it to anyone, but nightmares haunted almost all of the few hours Petyr Baelish actually spent sleeping during night.  
  
He spent his morning checking his phone and computer for anything of importance with a cup of coffee in his hand. He had caught up with one or two things at his last visit to the Fingers. It was one of his most efficient ways of receiving information, one of his greater ideas when working for MI5 - but also his most dangerous. He remembered working hard to get moved to MI6; just to get out of the country long before the death of Joffrey Lannister.  
  
He was back at MI5 again, for now at least, working to keep the British parliamentary democracy safe. He almost spat at that. Petyr Baelish had worked to serve the realm for as long as he could remember, but that wasn’t what he thrived on. Littlefinger thrived on chaos, and to his delight he had realised that the Lannisters’ own plans could be used to his advantage. Littlefinger didn’t work for MI5 to keep the parliamentary democracy safe. He created chaos.  


* * *

**SANSA  
**  
The elevator was going up and Sansa was mentally going through the bullet points of her meeting. The doors opened and she stepped out, still checking the list of pros and cons she had to present it to the Party’s Vice Secretary. If all went nice and smoothly, Sansa might be putting herself in a nice position for a promotion.   
  
Needless to say, she was nervous, but also excited - also terrified.   
  
Sansa got to where her desk was. She found it just as she had left it the day before, except for one tiny detail. There was a little white box resting on top of her keyboard. A nice delicate bow was attached to it, along with a small card. There was another time, a younger version of her where she would have opened the box, without caring who it was from. But this Sansa was far more careful than the old Sansa. Without even touching the box, she took the note and read it.’To my lovely wife, I ho-‘ and threw the card away. It was such a quick reaction. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. She couldn’t breath. Sansa wanted to sit down but that would be worse, she needed to be alert, if he came, who knew? Maybe he was still around? He must have come in her office and left the gift. Ramsay was not the kind of man that let others do his business. He would have enjoyed going there. Looking for her. That bastard. That filthy bastard.   
  
“Sansa”, was it a voice she recognised? “Are you ok?”, not a voice she recognised for sure. Their latest intern was on her doorway, looking at her. Thank God for the intern.  
  
“Yes, I just had a- small- vertigo” Sansa tried to smile while saying it.   
  
“Oh… are you going to be alright? They’re waiting for you”  
  
“Sure, can you tell them I’ll be right there?”  
  
“No problem” and just when he was about to walk away added “Oh, your husband Mr. Bolton will also be attending the meeting”.  


* * *

**PETYR**  
  
He left his flat with a cigarette in his right hand and his mobile in his left. Petyr pressed in a number he knew by heart.  
“Yes?”, answered a calm, slow and dreary voice at the other end.  
  
“Have you found them?”, Petyr replied, it was not a question.  
  
“Yes, it seems that I have”, continued the voice very matter-of-fact.  
  
“And?”  
  
“We’ve found the girl. She was not very happy to be found”  
  
Petyr didn’t inhale the smoke, he just held it in his mouth, and then slowly blew it out. Something with the calmness of the other person always seemed to affect him, it almost made him tranquil.  
  
“I wouldn’t expect less from a close friend”  
  
“A close friend? Am I really?”  
  
Petyr smirked though he knew no one was watching him.  
  
“Has she spoken yet?”, he took another long and slow draw of his cigarette.  
  
“She seems to be unsure of with whom our loyalty lies, she’s given quite a few examples. Non correct it seems. Nor does it look like she’s used to people who don’t want her dead”  
  
“Don’t let her get away”  
  
“Why would I, as a ‘close friend’ of yours, I’m not actually wanting you dead either”  
  
“Is that some kind of affection?”  
  
“Don’t confuse my words with affection. I’m simply not wanting to end up dead with any of you”  
  
“Keep her well fed, see to that she gets enough sleep”  
  
“Done already”  
  
“I’ll call you”  
  
“I know you will”  
  
Petyr hang up. Everything seemed to be going his way so far. It almost always did.  
  
His ride seemed to have come to an end and Petyr stepped out of his Aston Martin. BOLX it said on the front of the building. Petyr went inside and got to the reception. A young woman smiled back at him with big blue eyes and a small sharp face. Her brown hair was tied up with a knot at the back of her head. Her dress was almost a size too small for her, and probably drew quite the attention from men around her. But Petyr Baelish had seen a lot, and this wasn’t impressive to him.  
  
“Can I help you, Mr. Baelish?”, she asked in a girly tone.  
  
“You know why I’m here, Myranda”  


* * *

**SANSA**

Sansa was outside the door. ‘Just ignore him. Don’t look at him and you’ll be fine’ her mind was telling her. ‘You need to do this. Your boss is waiting and they need to settle the transaction once and for all’.  
  
She sighed heavily and with a trembling hand opened the door.  
  
“Good morning!” Sansa said out loud. She entered the room without really looking who was there. Sansa knew where her boss would be sitting and went directly to him. “Good morning Mr. Vice Secretary”  
  
“Good morning Ms. Stark. How are you today?”  
  
“Very well Sir. Eager to begin”  
  
“Good to hear!”  
  
“Hello Sansa”. And that was a voice she recognised very well. “My love”. Opening his arms, walking towards her. “I’ve missed you dearly” and with a wicked smile leaned in to kiss her forehead.  
  
Sansa tried to stay in control. Oh if only she could… spitting in his face was the ‘nicest’ thing she thought of doing to him. But she had to remain calm, there were big things at stake here. Sansa knew that, and somehow she felt that Ramsay knew that as well.  
  
She moved away from him, and had a good view of her small audience. It was that moment when she noticed there was a spot nobody had claimed yet, as there was a glass upside down and a leather binder waiting to be used.  
  
“We’re still missing someone but I think we can begin?” Sansa’s boss must have read her mind as he announced the vacancy. Everyone murmured their approval.

Sansa knew it was her turn to begin with the meeting. She started by introducing them to a background story of voting in the past years in the UK, and how different parties have achieved its success on election day through different strategies during their campaign. From pamphlets to the use of social media. It was all there. The Formula and the Result. Problem was, the Ingredients to apply such Formula weren’t going to come cheap. That’s why Sansa’s boss immediately thought of asking Bolx Banks to help them in their campaign. Of course Sansa suggested otherwise, claiming it could turn into a ‘conflict of interests’ but her boss insisted, and she complied. He never expected the actual owner of Bolx Banks to be present. These sort of meetings were handled by middle men. But it was no surprise to Sansa. As she knew, Ramsay Bolton wasn’t the kind of man who let other’s do his business.  
  
She knew he was enjoying this. Watching her avoid his gaze. He knew the effect his presence would have during what was surely the most important presentation in her career in politics. After all, the results of the Party’s was on the line, and whether they win or lose depended on the suggestions she had planned.

After she was done, the round of questions began. The first arm to come up was Ramsay’s. Again, Sansa wasn’t surprised.  
And just when Ramsay was going to formulate his question, an extraordinary thing happened…  


* * *

  **PETYR  
**  
“I thought you said you kept a leash on her?”, a voice solemnly remarked.  
  
“I do, your Excellency”, Petyr answered smoothly, “I’ve done nothing outside of what we’ve discussed”

“Maybe that’s the problem, I thought I could rely on you to have done a better job at keeping her at bay”

“This is going accordingly to the plan, I assure you”, Petyr straightened his waistcoat underneath his well tailored jacket. 

He wore a slim suit in dark blue - that kind of blue that’s as dark as the night itself, which only reflects the blue in certain lights - accompanied by a long sleek dark grey dress. 

“Click, clack, click, clack”, the recurring sound of high-heels clattering against the marble floor of the corridor that walked with confident steps just slightly to the right in front of him.

Black heels, and a dark grey dress carried in a graceful manner, formal and dignified.

The doors opened for her and in walked Cersei Lannister, the Prime Minister of England. Petyr followed promptly, knowing exactly who he would have the pleasure to face, once again.

“I expect I’ve not missed anything” Cersei Lannister said with her dry, yet exquisite voice.

She took a few steps, standing in the middle of the room, her right hand over her left, looking disapprovingly at the people around the table, as if telling each and every one of them just exactly how repulsive their act - of just coming to this meeting - was.

Petyr noticed Ramsay Bolton’s perpetual stare at his wife, Sansa. He seemed to be smiling, as if not noticing the entrance of the Prime Minister herself.

Cersei turned around, now looking at Sansa as well.

It was Ramsay who replied, lifting a finger to the air, “Actually, I was going to ask my darling wi-”

“As I thought. Nothing of importance”, Cersei interrupted.

Petyr watched them closely, keeping his smirk on face just as unceasing as Ramsay’s fixed eyes on Sansa - even when his words were directed at the woman in grey.

“Ah”, Cersei continued, smiling, “Sansa, we haven’t met in a very long time, I’ve missed you dearly. You see, I remember having three children alive and healthy at my side the last time I saw you”.

That was new, even to Petyr. ‘So it must have happened yesterday - remember to be more thorough next time’, Littlefinger scolded him. There seemed to be no time for Sansa to reply, even if she had wanted to - Petyr noted, Cersei was imperious today. This was a side Littlefinger admired about Cersei, her way of taking authority whether or not it was granted her - she had always been like this. But she had definitely seasoned after becoming the Prime Minister, taking over the post after Tywin Lannister, her father, had passed away. Petyr had digged around for more information, it had been difficult, but he had found a string that might lead to something. He had his guesses. Sometimes Petyr still laughed at the way the previous Prime Minister had gone: alone, in the bathroom. It was a reminder though, that titles did not guarantee your safety - but rather compromising it. Another reason to why Petyr appreciated his own mask, his persona, Littlefinger. A person created to help him reach his goals, but also a reminder of not letting greed get the better of him.

The nickname had started way back by one of the children at his foster home: Edmure Tully. It was a name to mock him for his size and his origin. Petyr Baelish was not born a wealthy man, he had had nothing. It was a reminder, both of what he came from and what he had already achieved, a mockery and a praise.

Cersei continued, looking straight at Sansa, her smiled seemed to have gone completely: “I am, truly, overjoyed by finally meeting you again - and this won’t be the last time”, and with that, Cersei Lannister turned briskly, making her dress whirl around her, and left the way she came without another word - the rest of secret service following, though Petyr stayed in one corner of the room where he had placed himself after Cersei’s entrance - almost unconsciously, with the smirk still lingering on his face.  


* * *

**SANSA**

Sansa wasn’t sure whether to feel thankful- for the interruption Ramsay suffered, or scared- by Cersei’s manner of greeting her.   
  
“Cersei Lannister. As lovely as ever” Ramsay said out loud. “Anyway, Mrs. Bolton-“ turning his attention to Sansa.   
She looked at his smug face. Oh she’d give everything to just- punch it, step on it, take a bat and just go at him, maybe even feeding him to a bunch of hungry dogs… in another life maybe.   
  
“Yes Mr. Bolton?” Sansa replied coldly.  
  
“I was wondering, my dear, what’s in it for us? I understand the Labourists, your gracious Party, is looking to improve this country, and you need the ways to explain this to the people”

“You are correct”

“But why do you think people will actually vote for you when they have someone like Prime Minister Cersei? Your candidate has no experience whatsoever, you’re further down in the polls this week than you were last week. Your presentation is convincing but relies on theory not facts. I’m sorry I just don’t see where the investment would be beneficial for Bolx” Ramsay stated. He leaned in his chair waiting for a response.  
Sansa took her time to respond. An answer she’d already started to form while he was spilling out his provocative argument. ‘To think of a reply while hearing what the other is saying, in order for such other to never see you in doubt’. She learned that from the best, and the best was gracefully leaning in the back of the room, observing her. And him. Specially him.

“I understand your concern Mr. Bolton. And trust me when I say, there are no guarantees that you and your bank will recover the investment”. She could feel her boss shift in his seat. He might have heard something he was not expecting.

“But in times of change, as we are about to live, either you take part of it or not. I am aware you are a dedicated man, one that is eager to make a name for himself now that your dear father has passed away. As I can recall, Bolx never really picked the winning side did it?” Sansa inquired. She could feel Ramsay’s smirk fade just a little. It’s a shame she couldn’t see another man’s smirk grow wider. She felt proud, being able to stay this cool in front of Ramsay.

“We’re way back in the polls yes, precisely because we don’t have the tools to change people’s point of views regarding our changes program. Tools your bank can provide”. Sansa said firmly. 

“Of course the question rests now whether you want to help us become the next; best Parlament this country has ever seen, and all the business we could bring to you once we take over Cersei Lannister and her Conservative Party, or if you want to stand back, like you’ve always done, and keep your everyday activity on mortgages and credits”.

Ramsay could feel all eyes on him now.  
There was something Ramsay hated more than remembering his defeats, and that was being remembered in front of other people.

If there had been a chess table on that room, Sansa just called out a big and loud Check Mate. She knew Ramsay was forced to say yes. There was no other Party that would actually trust a Bolton to finance its campaign, but Ramsay was right when he said the Labourists were going down, deep down the pools. And what’s the only thing you can do when you start going down? Well, you stop and pick yourself up. Bolx was their way up.

After that, Ramsay agreed and signed the correspondent paperwork. Sansa’s boss trying to make small talk while signing the most important deal their Party had ever done, but the Bolton boy only had eyes for Sansa, who on her part was trying to keep her cool until she could leave that damn room, and stay out of his sight.

She wanted to text Brienne, tell her she needed to get out of that place as soon as the meeting was over, but she left her phone back in her office. ‘God, why are they taking so long?’

As her boss collected the paperwork, and offered Ramsay his hand for a formal and typical handshake, Sansa collected her leather binder and left the room.

‘Ok, ok, ok, just get the phone, text Brienne, leave’ She was in her office now. ‘Phone, Brienne, leave’. Right, get the phone. She searched for it in her purse. Yes! Got it! ‘Phone, Brienne, leave’ Contact list, Brienne.  
‘Done with the meeting. Ramsay is here’. 

That’d be enough for Brienne to get the driver to start the car, maybe even wait for her at the entrance.  
‘Phone, Brienne, leave. Right, now I leave’ She picked up her things as the others left, gave the white box with the red bow one last look, and felt her stomach ache.

Sansa turned to door only to find Ramsay waiting underneath it.

“Going somewhere my love?”

Sansa freezed. What- what… Sansa wanted to think of something, anything to say or do but her mind wasn’t working. Her mind took her back to that horrible night. Somehow, not knowing how, she managed to find words.

“Please let me though”

“Please? Still so formal and ladylike… you know just how to turn me on” Ramsay said this, smirking, as he gave himself a squeeze.

“Ramsay, let me out”

Ramsay passed from a grin to a dead serious expression. “You’re my wife. You’re coming home with me” he started walking towards her, making Sansa walk backwards. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you”. Sansa’s back reached the wall, with Ramsay just a few inches away from her. “The nights have been long and cold without - your body” Sansa was crying now. She was trapped. She felt trapped. She couldn’t shout because he was her husband after all.  
Ramsay reached out for her hair. Took that beautiful firey lock of hair with his fingers to his nose and gave in a long deep sniff. He then put it in his mouth, making the tip a wet mess. He leaned in, his breath caressing her ear. Just like that night over a year ago. One hand was now coping one of her breasts while the other slowly found its way underneath her dress. Sansa started to struggle but Ramsay’s arm was faster, pinning her throat to the wall.

The hand that was underneath her dress moved to the back of her neck. The mark. He was touching it… he was - caressing it?

“You remember this, Sansa? You know why I did this? So you would never forget that I was your first - and I will be the last- AHHHH” Brienne grabbed his hair and pulled it up, making Ramsay squeal like a madman. “Run Miss Sansa! Driver is waiting for you!” Sansa moved clumsily and ran towards the stairs. 

She found herself almost jumping down every few steps until she reached the parking lot.  
Indeed her car was running and waiting for her. She got in and closed the door behind her. Sansa looked out the window, hoping for Brienne to appear.

“Miss Stark? Is everything all right” the driver asked. He knew the answer wasn’t going to be good, looking at the state she was in. Her face full with tears. 

Brienne’s blond hair appeared and Sansa could feel her relief. As her guardian angel hopped in the car, Sansa felt herself disconnect from her body. ‘What was happening to her?’. The driver was already on his way to the safe house through route #5 after Brienne’s orders (different routes for security), that tall woman was trying to talk to her, but Sansa was feeling further and further away from herself. Sansa rested her head on the back of the seat and closed her eyes. It felt it was the only thing she could do.

Several hours later, Sansa woke up. But they weren’t in her safe house. This was some kind of hotel. A nice bright room she didn’t recognise. She stood up and left the bedroom to find Brienne sitting down on one of the furniture chairs.

“Miss Sansa”

“Brienne”

Sansa moved in to hug her.

Her bodyguard was moved and put her arms around her while tears invaded her eyes. “Are you ok Miss Sansa? Did he hurt you again?”

Sansa didn’t move. Brienne understood Sansa’s lack of answer was a confirmation to her own question.

“Why aren’t we in the Safe House, Brienne? Where are we?” they way she said it, Brienne was reminded of her little niece, who scared easily, and always went to her aunt whenever she was around to feel protected.

“Miss Sansa, I have terrible news”

Sansa looked up. 

“You can no longer go to the Safe House”

“Why’s that?”

“Someone burned it down”.


	4. Let me play the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were ever created in the story.  
> This chapter is SFW, with references of sexual, emotional abuse and anxiety disorders.

_Chapter 4_ : **LET ME PLAY THE DEVIL**.  


* * *

**PETYR**

A part of Petyr had wanted to hear Sansa’s presentation, he figured she had done wonderfully. She had, in fact, learnt from the best. Petyr had stayed in the room for longer than needed, he could have left when Cersei had, as was the secret service's duty, but the figure of Sansa had held him there, pinned by the wall by nothing other than her very presence. Littlefinger found pride in that, that he knew he could just stay without needing to give Cersei an explanation later on. Littlefinger came and went as he liked, he never followed anyone like a shadow like the usual secret service and everyone knew that.  
  
“You’re like a rat”, Cersei once told him, very matter-of-fact.  
  
Petyr hadn’t objected. He was alright with that, and he needed that image to be clear as daylight. If he was known for working independently and still be able to present what was asked of him, it would work to his advantage, and he would able to achieve the reputation he needed. Littlefinger didn’t take sides.  
  
Petyr had seen Ramsay Bolton’s name on the list of people to be present at the meeting. Petyr wasn’t sure whether he had stayed just to see how well Sansa was to see this proposal through or if just to make sure that she would be alright facing her husband again. It still bothered him, not knowing for sure what had really taken place at Bolton’s residency. Littlefinger was a man who was meant to know everything, every little secret of every man or woman of any importance whatsoever. He collected information, classified or confidential information just to spill it later at the right time to the right people. He knew just how to play the game, move the pieces to his benefits.  
  
Petyr Baelish finally left the room with everyone else. He hadn’t stayed to greet Sansa, that wasn’t what he was. Petyr wasn’t a kind, loving man who looked out for other people’s concerns. Sansa would be able to handle this, just like he himself had - facing Lysa again.  
  
When Petyr had come to take Sansa away from England, away from the hands of the Lannisters, he had taken her to Ireland. To his motherland. Littlefinger had seen to that he was already well established at his ‘new’ habitat. He had went back to Dublin, back to his foster home - back to Lysa Arryn.  
  
Lysa was one of three children to Petyr’s new foster parents. It was Lysa, Edmure and Cat - Catelyn. Cat had always been beautiful, much more so than her sister - at least in Petyr Baelish’s eyes. She was cleverer, smarter, full of social command, and the first born child of Hoster and Minisa Tully. She was, undoubtedly, the one who stood out of the three children. Petyr had fell for her harder than he ever thought a human being was able to do. Petyr had never loved again, nor would he. He had felt love, utter effortless affection. But what was it worth? In the end, it had been unrequited, and left Petyr with a scar to remind him of the foolish act of a boy, that would never go away. It was not just a scar that had made Petyr who he was today. It was also a physical scar, one that stretched from navel all the way up to his collarbone. Brandon Stark was the man who Cat was to marry, Petyr had protested. Criticising Cat for wanting to marry a man she barely knew - instead of him, someone who had been there for her, someone who knew her for who she truly was. The fight had gone out of hand, it had started with Petyr just screaming at Brandon, telling him exactly how little he knew about Cat, how their relationship didn’t go as deep as his own. It had soon escalated to something far more dangerous. Brandon Stark was a lot stronger than him, a lot taller and a lot better at fighting. Petyr had only been able to throw one feeble strike at Brandon, he hadn’t been able to fight him at all, let alone shield himself from the Stark boy’s brutal punches. Petyr hadn’t seen it, but the knife hit hard and cut him open a lot easier than he had expected, the flesh giving way for the invading sharp steel. He never head Cat’s scream, but he heard her now: “Please, Brandon, stop! He’s going to die, do you know what they’ll do to you if he dies? They’re going to lock you up! Brandon you have to-”, Petyr didn’t pick up the rest of it, a black somber seemed to surround him and he dozed off.  
He had woken up in hospital, drowsy by painkillers, with a redhead leaning over him. He thought it might be Cat who had come to visit him. It was not. It was Lysa.  
  
It seemed that Petyr had always crossed path with that woman, the sister of the beautiful Catelyn Stark. In Ireland they had reunited for the first time since that incident many, many years ago. Petyr Baelish had been greeted with a smile and a hug that was too tight and went on far longer than what was considered normal. Littlefinger had done what he knew he had to in order to get where he wanted to be, no matter the cost of Petyr. He had taken advantage of her feelings toward Petyr and he had married Lysa Arryn. She was not Arryn anymore, but Baelish, carrying his name from now on, to the grave.  
  
His phone rang in his pocket, bringing him back to reality. Lysa was dead, she was no more.  
  
“Mr. Baelish”, the voice said, it seemed strained, “it’s the safe house, Alayne’s house - you ordered me to call if anything happened”  
  
Petyr felt an alarm going off. This was not good.

“Go on”, he demanded.

“It’s on fire, someone’s set it on fire”

‘Fuck!’, Petyr’s head was spinning. Who could have known? Petyr was the only one who knew, wasn’t he? He was one of the few who sat upon such power, the power of knowledge that not even Cersei, the Prime Minister, could get her hands on.

“Where is she?”, he said, trying to maintain his calm character, hoping that Sansa hadn’t gotten back home just yet.  
The conversation continued, hurried replies and a few remarks telling his minion exactly what should’ve been done and what needed to be done - right now; to check their security, check that their encrypted texts and emails were still working as it should, checking their line once- twice- thrice, and again to see that no one could listen. He got the address he was looking for and smoked a couple of cigarettes on in his way there.

Petyr Baelish arrived at the hotel as quick as the traffic would let him. He felt flustered when he met with Brienne once again, he was happy he hold such control of himself, not letting any of these emotions show. He had practised this ever since the time he was a boy, how to conceal every little thing from everyone. Petyr talked to Brienne, keeping it formal. The Tarth woman didn’t seem to like that he knew where Sansa was taken, but Petyr reassured her that no one else knew. But how could he? When he wasn’t the only one who knew about her whereabouts in the first place? Brienne seemed to believe him nevertheless, or maybe she only wanted to, knowing that overreacting and moving places once again might not help if someone kept track on ‘Miss Stark’ (Petyr had never liked that name).

“May I see her?”, he asked.

Brienne gave him one look and Petyr only smirked back at her. He was not going to let her see his true concern for Sansa now, not when he had been able to mask it this long. She turned without another word and went inside the door that separated Petyr from Sansa, and closed the door after her. Petyr let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. He was truly affected by this wasn’t he? Truly concerned for Sansa’s wellbeing? Petyr swallowed, he wouldn’t let wasted feelings get the better of him. He sat down on the sofa, in the space that seemed to have the purpose of a living room, and tried to clear his mind waiting for Sansa to awaken.

* * *

 **SANSA**  
  
After Brienne’s news Sansa felt her feet suddenly couldn’t hold her weight any more. Her body was heavier than before and the sensation of falling was replaced by the unique sensation of floating. She let go, so did her eyelids. Brienne’s voice was beginning to drift apart, calling for her, and then suddenly she couldn’t hear it any longer.  
  
Several hours passed when Sansa woke up again, in the same room as before. Only this time she heard a voice, a man’s voice. She knew who it was. For a second, a rush, she felt safe, as that voice brought her back to all those trips they enjoyed in each other’s company, but she couldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. Petyr Baelish… whom she saw earlier that day walking with Cersei Lannister, the same woman who threaten her afterwards. Why was he with her? What was his game? Besides, for all Sansa remembered she had been safe in her home until Petyr Baelish paid her a visit. After all, the very next day, her home was burned down and she still had no clue who could have done it.  
  
As she stepped out of the room for a second time that day she found Brienne looking over by the window and the man whose voice she would always be able to recognise sitting on the couch.  
  
Petyr Baelish was looking through his phone, distracted and very invested in whatever he was reading and typing, almost to that extent that he didn’t notice Sansa approaching.

“Sansa…” he finished typing a text he was writing and then finally searched her face. “I’m trying to find the people responsible for this”.

His face showed no emotion and Sansa’s mind saw it as a provocation.

“What are you doing here?” Sansa needed to take her rage on somebody, and Petyr’s face just happened to be there. “I thought I told you I don’t need your help”

“I’m now proving to you that you do, if you had come to me from the beginning-“

“Excuse me?!” Not only his face just happened to be there, but unfortunately Petyr’s words weren’t helping Sansa think of someone else to put the blame on either. “From the beginning?! What beginning, there’s not even a beginning to start with! What makes you feel so important? Can you please understand one thing? I DON’T NEED YOU. I never have and never will”  
  
“Sansa, if you can only-“ Petyr stopped half through the sentence. Sansa saw something in him that almost looked as uncertainty. He took a deep breath and apparently decided to start again. “I have assets, access to information that you won't be able to pick up by yourself without having my position, that is not even within Cersei's power to get a hold on. You need me. I'm your greatest chance at getting back at the people who's done this to you. Isn't that what you want? To get revenge?”  
  
Sansa just couldn’t believe it. Just a few hours ago she had to face Ramsay again, hear Cersei threaten her in front of everybody, learn how her house was burnt down and now Petyr was being all fatherly teaching _her_ lessons?  
  
“Revenge?” Sansa couldn’t help but to chuckle a little bit. “On who? I should just tell Brienne to end you”. Her troubled mind decided to throw her the idea that every time Petyr appeared in her life it brought her more bad than good.  
  
“Let me ask you something. Don’t you think it’s a little bit too much of a coincidence the ONLY person outside of my personal security- that means you- visit me, at my safe house, which no one else knows about, and the next day it gets burned down? Remind me again why I should trust you or your “assets” Sansa’s voice started to increase in volume more and more.  
  
Brienne knew this wasn’t looking well for Petyr and wanted to interrupt in some way. Petyr looked as if he wanted to calm her down. His hands were up, as a peace offering.  
  
“Sansa, without me you wouldn't be standing here, remember that time when you first came to London?” Petyr took Sansa back to her arrival, so young and still so inexperienced. “Because I do. I remember the little girl with big dreams. When the accusations of your father started, Cersei asked for you. If you can't remember, I'll remind you: I was in that room as well, I told Cersei that you were innocent. I've been there from the very start.” Sansa knew he was right. “I misjudged Ramsay's character, that I did, but if he hadn't been who he is, it would have been, without question, the fastest way to get you back in politics. And let me remind you, that it still is. Without marrying Ramsay you would still be a traitor in the eye of the public. Now you can use this to your advantage. Expose him. Let him suffer”.  
  
“You know? If I’d known how it would be to live with him... I would rather have stayed a traitor…” and that wasn’t her mind speaking, that was something Sansa did really mean with every inch of her heart. “Brienne, I need to talk with Mr. Baelish alone please?” Brienne didn’t want to leave Sansa alone, least of all in this state, but she obliged.  
  
As the door was closing, Sansa was unaware that she was still in the same headspace. She wasn’t able to think straight and was still aiming on finding someone guilty. Petyr, again, just happened to be there. “Why did you tell Cersei where I lived?”  
  
“I didn’t”, he shook his head ever so slightly. “I never told Cersei, you have to believe me. This is what I've been doing these last couple of hours, searching for whoever lies behind all of this. I would never do that to you, Sansa, I would never betray you like that, you have to believe me.”  
  
“I find it difficult to believe you when just hours ago I see you accompanying her to my Party’s meeting. Now, please leave, I need to be alone, I need to think.”  
  
Petyr almost looked disappointed that Sansa wouldn’t give him a chance to explain, she wasn’t open to listen to him. He knew Sansa was firing blindly, fuelled by rage, anger and weariness. The best he could do was leave her alone.  
  
“Then I will leave, if you insist” Petyr turned his back on her. It seemed he had always hated to do that. Standing close to the door, he looked as though he wanted to add something. “Though you should know, that there are things the Conservatives are trying to hide. I do work for Cersei, it's true, but I'm not working with her. I give her a bit of information, as little as possible but enough to make her trust my loyalty. I never told her about your whereabouts. I've had agents looking out for you, secret service - you would not have noticed them. My men are good, they're the best in the country. They work for me, but occasionally someone makes a better proposition. They turn, and they sell their information. I've been looking into who that person might be and it'll all be taken care of. They won't be working for me anymore - nor will they work for anyone else ever again. You see, the Lannisters are planning something big this time. I've been picking up clues for quite some time now. They won't just try to win the next election, not just trying to destroy the Labour Party; your party. They're going to destroy democracy. This is what they do, it's what they want. It seems they are starting with you. They want you gone from the world, if they'll have their way; there will be as little of you left as there will be of the guy from my team. You won't have existed. And neither will anything you've worked for. I can help you change that.”, Petyr paused, looking at her, “let me stay, Sansa, perhaps not for me, or for you, but for what you believe in, for what your family’s fought for. When I first saw you, you were a girl with big dreams. I can make your dreams come true - but if you'd rather have them shattered by the Lannisters, that's entirely up to you”  
  
If that man was telling the truth, Sansa knew she had acted a fool. Her mind was eager to settle all the wrongs she suffered and blame it on the first person available. Isn’t that what people do when they’re distressed? Blame it on those who are near to us?  
  
“Mr. Baelish…” Sansa asked, her voice already broken. “I’m sorry for my reaction… I’m just tired- of running”. She truly was. Why was it so difficult to find a place and start over, without problems, without disappointments? But life would never be like that. It was those same problems and disappointments Sansa wanted to run away from that were helping her in her growth. “First the Lannisters, then Ramsay, and now someone destroys the only place I have felt safe in for a long time”  
  
Petyr seemed to melt just a bit, he looked more genuine these last days than she had seen him in a very long time.  
“Shush dear, it's fine” he moved back to where she was, closer to her, “I understand”, he said.  
  
Did he really? Sansa wanted to tell him everything. All of her experiences after he let her go, back in Ireland. Let him be the confidant he once was. But her mind - who was in constant battle with her feelings - wouldn’t allow her to.  
  
“And please, call me Petyr” he smiled, and Sansa noted that he smiled with his eyes as well.  
  
Petyr’s voice calmed her. And that was something her mind couldn’t prevent. Sansa sat down on the same sofa she saw Petyr sitting on when she woke up.  
  
“What brings you back to the UK? Last time I heard you were abroad... quite far”  
  
“Yes, I've been on missions, if you will. I could say I went back to UK when first hearing the rumours of Cersei's plan but then I would be lying. That was never the entire truth. I came back when they told me you had been taken prisoner by Ramsay, off record, of course, but the news travelled fast. I got back as soon as I could. Too late, I discovered, to my distress. I will not make that mistake again. You have my word” his words were firm and fair.  
  
“I appreciate that” Petyr’s words about his missions reminded Sansa of her own job and obligations.  
  
“I need to tell my boss what happened”, standing up, looking for her purse where her she would most likely find her phone, “I won’t be going tomorrow”, she found it on the mini bar counter, “I need to go home, see if there’s still something that I can save-“, and her mind, that logical mind Petyr always admired, brought her back to reality. Was there really something to save? Don’t be stupid. Your home has been burnt down. To the ground. There’s nothing to be saved. All her clothes, all the pictures she took herself. The family albums! Pictures of her brothers and sister, her parents! Her books - everything! Her mind once again played the part of a bully oh so well that her inner child holding all the emotions couldn’t take it anymore.  
  
“Where am I going to go now?” Sansa’s tears were coming down again. This time hard as ever. “Everything I had is destroyed!”  
  
Sansa could hear Petyr talking but she wasn’t actually listening to what he was saying. She felt it again, that floating sensation and her disassociation with the world increased.  
  
“Sansa?”  
  
Everything was gone.  
  
“… we’ll figure this out?”  
  
Everything-  
  
“… no, not everything, not yet sweetling, listen to me, everything is not destroyed yet. I'm here, I'll help you. We'll sort this out”  
  
-is gone.  
  
Petyr slowly moved closer to Sansa, maybe because he had realised that she had trouble focusing on his voice.  
  
“Okay, I'm going to touch your shoulder, okay?” He moved extremely slow, yet firm, and reach out to her, putting one hand on her shoulder and moving it down her arm to her elbow. Sansa swayed as a reflex.  
  
“Hey, Sansa, listen to my voice, I'm here, it's alright, it will be alright, you are safe,” Petyr took her to the sofa beside them, sitting down, “Sansa, I think you're having a panic attack of some sort, you're alright, you're not dying, you're here, with me,” Petyr put his arms around her, holding her firmly, “You got this, it'll be over soon, you're here with me, you're not alone.”   
  
Sansa felt those arms around her and her breath stilled a bit, not going in and out of her in a frantic pace and she knew it was safe to close her eyes as her body shook. After some time darkness took her and she let herself drift away.

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr paced around the room after Sansa had fallen asleep, again. The panic attack. It was only logical, she had been through a lot, and the last thing she needed was having her safe house burnt down. It was a safe house after all? A place where she had probably actually felt safe for the first time since… since when? Petyr had wrapped his dark blue jacket loosely around her for comfort after having let her go and sat down beside her. When Sansa finally stirred, slowly waking up he was on alert once again. Ready if she was to go into a panic attack once more.  
  
“Hey... what happened? What time is it?” she said, looking around, drowsy and unsure.  
  
“I think you went through a panic attack”, Petyr replied calmly looking down his lap and then up again remembering the glass of water he had prepared for her on the table for when she woke, and handed it over to Sansa who took it with both her hands, “I think you should drink something, it's 7pm, you've been out for about an hour,” he continued as Sansa took a sip.  
  
“I need to find a place to live in. I could stay here, yes, but I don’t want to wake up everyday and remind myself I’m here because of what happened.”  
  
He paused for a moment, an idea had sprung when hearing those words, “needless to say, it's not safe for you to stay here, the Lannisters are going to try to seek you out and it won't take long until they'll find you. You will have to keep moving, constantly,” he looked back at Sansa, trying to meet her gaze, “you could stay at my place, I have a spare room across from mine. It will only be temporary, of course.”  
  
Sansa looked touched for a brief moment, only to change into something that seemed to be uncertainty though not angered as she had been earlier that evening. Petyr could understand that. It was a bold offer, even for him. Petyr Baelish was not the man who invited his friends over for dinner parties to his own flat, he let them come to the mansion outside the city, but that was a different thing. No one even knew where Littlefinger lived except for the team working for him.

Sansa took some time until she replied, unsure: “I don’t know... I don’t want to get you in trouble. If they're looking for me they’ll come after you…”  
  
Petyr smiled at that, not only because he wanted to look confident in his proposal but also because this was a spark of the Sansa he had met all those years ago. The little girl who wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, who wouldn’t even put someone who was responsible for so much pain in her life as he was in danger, risking something for her. Petyr smiled and looked at her in awe, surprised by the compassion she shared with her late mother - but Sansa was so much more than that, so much more than Cat ever was.  
  
“Well, didn't I just agree to tell you about the Lannisters? What would be the purpose of trying to get you to trust me if I'm not taking your side, Sansa? I'll help you get back what you lost and I'll help put your dreams into reality. Right now, staying with me is your best alternative, the Lannisters won't suspect it - yet, and that will buy us some time. You won't be in my way, Sansa, let me worry about that instead, if I wouldn't think it a good idea, I wouldn't have proposed it in the first place. Your stay won't be forever. In the meantime we'll figure it out; where you can stay, what we will do.”  
  
Petyr studied Sansa, it seemed as if he’d won. She saw his reasoning, she couldn’t deny that, and he was her best shot. There was not much else to go for. She could stay here or somewhere else, but that would put her in inevitable danger. She could be safe with him, safer than she ever was at the safe house. But also much more vulnerable.  
  
“Thank you Mr. Baelish.”  
  
“No need to thank me yet, wait with that until we got Cersei behind bars,” he smirked.  
  
At first he had been unsure, maybe this idea with Sansa had just been a (very unlike him) spur of the moment reaction, but this was an idea that had started to make sense to him. He had worked hard for things to play out as he liked, maybe, just maybe he could come out from this winningly. Getting all that he had worked so very hard for. Littlefinger could see to that, he wouldn’t lose it, Petyr knew that.  
  
“Before Cersei... I’d prefer to see Ramsay. He needs to pay for what he has do- for what he is.”  
  
That wasn’t entirely what Petyr had expected. He had thought Sansa wanted to get back at the Lannisters, but of course, she would want to do something about Ramsay. Petyr knew that even if Sansa couldn’t accept it to herself yet she did want vengeance. They all did. But he had been listening, and Sansa’s unfinished words stayed with him: ‘pay for what he has do…’. He still didn’t know what exactly had been done to Sansa, but Petyr could imagine that it wasn’t pleasant, but it would have been better for himself if he hadn’t even been able to picture it. If she was to know that, Sansa would blame him even further, thinking that maybe he did know, all along. Petyr searched Sansa’s face for cues.  
  
“I respect if you don't want to talk about it... though I've heard... talking about these things are supposed to... you know... help…” Petyr looked away not sure how to approach this.  
  
What had he just said? This wasn’t who Petyr Baelish was. Mr. Baelish was a cold hearted man with no time for emotions and wasted feelings. This made him uncomfortable, if only, if only he hadn’t himself-, his track of thought’s got cleared up before he could reach too far, it was better that way, always better that way. Keep it away. It doesn’t exist if you don’t let it.  
  
“He... he hurt me. But I prefer if we don’t talk about it. I don’t want to think about him.”  
  
“Of course... you, take your time…” Petyr swallowed, hoped that Sansa was so mixed up with her own past that she would mistake his discomfort for some kind of empathy - it was however, better for her to see it that way, “he should pay, I don't need to know any details to know that for sure,” Petyr stated.  
  
He was surprised to realise that the emotion within him was very much like anger, anger about the fact that someone had done something to this girl. The innocent girl that she once was. She was so much like the boy he himself one was too. Dreaming of becoming the hero of the story, dreaming of the girl who he would win through his heroic actions. Those dreams were dead, and that boy was too. Littlefinger, the mask who had replaced him had filled him with a chill that had killed that part of him, slowly but surely, it had ate at him, and the boy had ended up dead, coming out as the ice man he now was.  
  
“What you said... earlier, about Cersei and the Conservatives having a plan. Wanting to destroy democracy”, Sansa paused, ”I can’t allow them to do that. I want to stop them.”  
  
Petyr smirked, this was going his way wasn’t it?  
  
“Of course you do. Ever since Cersei took over Tywin Lannister's position there has been nothing but corruption - possibly even murder. Cersei wants you dead and gone from the world entirely. And you, are not the first one…” he looked at Sansa, waiting for her to pick up the cues herself, putting together the pieces in that mind of hers that he had constructed like he had constructed the Fingers, using what he had taught her to come to the very same conclusion he had.  
  
Sansa exchanged a wary look with Petyr, his smirk not leaving his face. If he had been a different man this would have been turning him on, she was a masterpiece; clever and quick, with her intelligence reflecting in her blue eyes that seemed to be the same shade as the ice cold heart Petyr had created of his own, and with the contrast of that innocence of hers still lingering on those red locks and beautiful curves of her body.  
  
“My father?” she asked - but it wasn’t really a question.  
  
Petyr could hear her voice almost breaking - they had to work on that, he noted.  
  
“Cersei’s only public oppositors were my parents... wait... did she-?”  
  
Petyr felt proud, even though he knew that he shouldn’t. This wasn’t when he was supposed to show Sansa how very satisfied he was with her for coming to that conclusion all by her own. He tried to slowly drop the smirk, looking a bit softer if possible.  
  
“Yes... I believe Cersei has been involved with a lot more than we know of, but definitely a lot more than the public knows of. If we play our cards well, we might both be able to turn her precious votes; the people, against her, using newspapers - you don't need proof for news, they're just news after all, but what we do need proof for, is court. We could be able to get her convicted; for murder.”  
  
Petyr straightened his back unconsciously as Sansa took her time to process what he had just said.  
“How can we do that?”  
  
Petyr could feel her doubt, “I have a team working for me, they'll be able to extract some information. Cersei is still unaware of my allegiance with you, she won't be expecting me turning against her. This will work to our advantage, having someone on the inside is crucial. Cersei is smart, she's been very discreet this whole time, she will have seen to that anything that can expose her is kept very close to her and what could be destroyed will already be very much so - I wouldn't expect any less of her.”  
  
Even though Petyr felt like he could go on forever, setting this task into motion he knew that Sansa was still very much the same very human girl as she had always been, a human with human needs. He had to have patience. Instead of going on about what they should start with Petyr said: “It's getting late, and it's been a tough day for you. The longer we stay here the more dangerous it'll become. I suggest we get moving rather quickly, but we can't be seen together. Ask Brienne to use this phone”, he handed over a mobile from inside his jacket that was still draped over Sansa’s knees, being careful not to brush her thighs as he stretched to reach it, “It's secured and encrypted, call the first number and ask for the address.” Petyr continued as he picked up another phone, his own personal one, that was still laying on the coffee table from when he had ruthlessly picked a destiny for the man responsible for the leak of Sansa’s whereabouts. He quickly typed in a message, letting them know she was coming and allowing them to provide Brienne and Sansa with further information, “Someone I trust will welcome you. Your room will be to the right, they'll show you. Do not enter any other room.” he looked up from his phone for a few seconds to check that Sansa had gotten that and then continued on without remorse and an unconscious smirk persistently on his face: “I'm sorry to say that Brienne can't stay with us. She'll accompany you out so if anyone will see you on the way everything will look as it should, no one will notice and no one will suspect anything. She'll be staying at another place, don’t worry, no one should be able to found out about any of it and if they do, they won't be able to track you down at least. They'll find her, not you. Brienne will be able to protect herself, and I'll have people ready, close by if needed be. But I’ll let you on to something, such measures are completely unnecessary, and their only true purpose is to make my terms more agreeable to you, I know you wouldn’t let anyone take your guardian angel from you. Sansa, I am not an angel, I have too much power in my hands for that to ever be true. Let me play the Devil for you, and I shall never disappoint.”


	5. Please, call me Petyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes place previous to Petyr & Sansa's two blogs on tumblr were ever created in the story.  
> This chapter is NSFW, with references of sexual and emotional abuse and mature content.  
> Please thread carefully, this chapter is meant to make you feel uncomfortable - if you’re easily triggered and want more information about this chapter please contact me.

_Chapter 5:_ ****PLEASE, CALL ME PETYR**.**

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

Brienne was watching as Mr. Baelish strolled down the hallway. He looked satisfied with himself when he had closed the door after him, even gave her one his looks. Brienne hated smugs, and Petyr Baelish was one of them.

The tall strong woman opened the door to Sansa’s current, although temporary, safe house. Just thinking about how someone had destroyed everything the late Catelyn Stark’s daughter had made her feel at unease, and somewhat guilty for not having been able to prevent it from happening.

The daughter was now holding a phone in her hand that Brienne did not recognise as one of Miss Sansa’s.

This one was black and stylish. The Stark girl would have prefered them with brighter colours.

“Did everything go ok Miss Sansa?”

Sansa was staring at nothing in particular. She could hear Brienne talking, possibly asking a question, and somehow her brain received it, but kept it on hold until Sansa’s attention came back to where she actually was.

But right now Sansa’s thoughts were elsewhere. If anyone had asked her she’d tell you she’d been thinking about how to proceed now that she knew Petyr Baelish was on her side. But Sansa Stark would never admit that she was also thinking about how very lucky she felt to have someone like him in her life. Someone who always seemed to have a solution to everything.

“Miss Sansa?” Brienne repeated.

This time, the steady voice brought Sansa back to reality, and somehow she knew what Brienne wanted to know.

“Yes,” Sansa turned her attention to her guardian angel, “Everything went ok.”

Brienne studied her face. She was a stern girl but this time she found a hint of fear in that look.

“Mr. Baelish suggested we leave this place. As soon as possible. He gave me this,” she handed over the phone to Brienne.

“Miss Sansa-“ Brienne tried to interrupt.

“You need to call the first number, they will give you an address,” Sansa continued, as if delivering this message was something her life depended on. But really, where was the lie in that?

“Miss Sansa, please.”

“What?” Sansa sounded exasperated now.

“Who asked you to do this? Petyr Baelish?” Brienne’s was a bit unnerved.

“Yes… what’s wrong with that?” Sansa asked.

Brienne was astounded. Miss Sansa defended him, didn’t she? Him, Petyr Baelish, after everything. How could that be possible?

“Nothing, I just don’t think he’s the best person right now to be in charge of your securit-“

“And you are?”

Brienne felt Sansa’s last words as a punch in her stomach. So that’s how it feels...

And Sansa knew it too. As her own words left her mouth she felt her words as a low blow that Brienne had never expected, least of all from her, the late Catelyn Stark’s first born daughter.

Brienne didn’t want to think of Miss Sansa’s mother. Finding her hanging in that dark hotel room all by herself was a memory she was never going to be able to erase. It was an accident, wasn’t it? But accident or not, she hadn’t been able to stop it from happening, and that was something Brienne would never be able to forgive herself for. Maybe taking on the task of being Miss Sansa’s personal security was her way to atone for her failings, trying to make right what she felt she did wrong with Sansa’s mother.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sansa. I never intended to intrude. If you believe Mr. Baelish suggestions are what’s best for you, I will support it. I am here to serve you.”

“Don’t say that word Brienne.”

“What word?”

“Serve… you make me feel…” Sansa didn’t know how to put it, “You’re no servant.”

Brienne was trying hard to hold it together.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Sansa wanted to mend the pain with words, “You are an excellent member of my personal security, and I appreciate your loyalty,” Sansa meant it.

These were hard times, and trusting people was becoming more and more difficult.

“I believe Mr. Baelish’s contacts might help us now,” Sansa explained, “I have no home, my communication has been compromised, and I just found out Mr. Baelish may help my party bring down Cersei Lannister. He has become an ally, a powerful one that I can use at the moment.”

“I understand Miss Sansa,” she did, after all, it was Petyr Baelish, and that sneaky bastard knew when and how to use his cards.

“So after you’re given the address, someone is going to welcome me there,” Sansa continued.

“What do you mean, welcome ‘me’? Just you?” Brienne was confused.

“Yes. I’m afraid you can’t come.”

And there was another one of Baelish’s cards.

“Miss Sansa, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea-“

“Brienne, it’s going to be alright. One of his people is going to look after me, as they are going to look after you. He told me himself,” Sansa truly believed Baelish had spoken the truth.

Brienne was fighting a battle in her own mind. She was aware that leaving Sansa alone with Baelish was something Catelyn would never have approved of. After all, Petyr Baelish had gained a reputation for not being entirely trustworthy. On the other hand, she knew Sansa wanted to escape, leave everything behind - and maybe Baelish was right, maybe there was some kind of leak in their security and she needed to find it before she could continue standing by Sansa’s side. It was Sansa’s security that mattered most now, and if something ever happened to her, Brienne would know where to start searching.

But she still had one more thing in mind.

“Remember one thing Miss Sansa.”

“What’s that?”

“Petyr Baelish has never helped anyone for free,” Brienne’s statement was utterly true and left Sansa wondering the price she would have to pay for what Baelish was doing for her.

After Brienne followed Petyr Baelish’s instructions, and was given an address she did not recognise - but kept it mind, so that she could write it down in her own phone’s reminders at the first opportunity she had.  
She accompanied Sansa to the car. The windows were pitch black which didn’t allow Brienne, nor Sansa, to recognise who was Petyr Baelish’s driver. They just rolled down the window ever so slightly asking for the phone and Brienne handed it over.  
It was a long drive and the phone showed a complicated route, probably to shake off anyone who could possibly be following. Sansa wasn’t able to recognise any of the places they passed after leaving the outskirt of London. This made Sansa feel unnerved but strangely calm at the same time. If someone were to look for her, it would certainly be hard for them to reach to her. But on the other hand, this also meant Sansa would not be able to come and go as easily as she had hoped for.  
The landscape regained the urbanist style after a few hours of nature and forest and she wasn’t sure anymore where they were, had they returned, or gone to a completely foreign place? They had dropped off Brienne at a certain point and the car had pulled off leaving Brienne with that typical face of hers. She noticed someone escorting her guardian angel away and they were off again.  
Sansa could distinguish a tall building up ahead, and knew that was the place they were heading. It was a building that someone like Petyr Baelish would live in, very English with dark brown colours.  
The car pulled up in the driveway. Sansa saw a young man, with his hands in his pocket waiting at the front door.  
She stepped out of the car and felt like introducing herself.

“Hello, I’m Sa-”

“Sansa,” the man interrupted, “I’m Olyvar, it's a pleasure to finally be able to talk to you, face to face," Olyvar replied shaking her hand.

“Well, Littlefinger never mentioned what a true beauty you are, Sansa," he continued while scanning her with a soft and genuine smile on his lips, "Though I shouldn't be surprised that the first time he decides to take someone home, he would have chosen someone like you, he is a man of excellent taste, after all."

Sansa was starting to like this man.

“That’s very kind. But do you really want me to believe I’m the first person he takes home? Did he ask you to tell me that? Good try.”

He just smiled at her, kind of mysteriously.

Olyvar approached a grey panel with black illuminated buttons. With a quick move he entered several codes to get into what seemed to be Petyr’s flat. A sound indicating the codes were correct broke the silence. The young man used a set of keys he pulled from one of his pockets, opening up heavy security doors with metal bars.

“Well, trust me Sansa, you can be honest around me. I know Littlefinger, I’ve worked with him for a long time now and he’s a total creep for sure. I guess that’s why he’s never taken someone home before, and probably why he’s… you know, paranoid?” Olyvar nodded at the doors while showing Sansa inside.

“This is where you’ll meet me every now and then, and possibly some of the other's as well - we'll be best friends by the end of this, I could need someone to talk to, if you haven't noticed yet, Littlefinger does very little talking - unless he's in the mood.”

The inside of the flat was something Sansa could have never imagined. It changed so much from its outside appearance. Olyvar showed Sansa a corridor, leading to a huge space, on the left there was a kitchen, and on the right there was a living room. Almost completely empty except for one sofa and an enormous tv screen.

"I know, he doesn't have much. You're going to thank me for that one,” he said pointing at sofa, “Without me you'd have nothing here.”

Sansa was in awe. It’s true Petyr Baelish appearance always left her with the impression of being someone in need, but she never imagined him being so… minimalistic? How many men driving an Aston Martin were minimalistic?

“So you’re the fashionista here?” Sansa mused, getting Olyvar to smile in return, “You mentioned I’ll see some of the others? What? Santa’s little helpers?”

Olyvar gave out a huge laugh.

"Well, actually, not that far from the truth really. We help out with whatever dirty work He Himself can't or won't do on his own. Ros might come around in the morning. I bet she'll be pleased to see you.”

A hint of curiosity had hit Sansa now.

“Honestly, she'll love you, I promise," said Olyvar, giving her a little wink at the end.

"You got a bathroom down here and another one upstairs where you can take a bath, but I’ve never dared to try it. Let me show you, it's exquisite.”

As they continued on their tour more and more questions were going through Sansa’s head. How much of what Olyvar was saying was true? Is she really the first person Baelish brought home? What did Olyvar really mean when he talked about helping Baelish out with ‘whatever dirty work’? Sansa wanted to get to these answers but she also knew that keeping them in her mind and not pushing people for real answers was the key to get to where you wanted.

Olyvar and Sansa were getting to the top of the stairs.

“He likes to keep it simple,” Sansa mentioned.

“No shit!” Olyvar laughed, "He goes all the way when it comes to minimalism, not at all like at the mansion - and yes Sansa, I've seen you there, but I suppose you never saw me hm?”

Sansa couldn’t recall his face, and Olyvar knew this.

“Didn't think so, you wouldn't have noticed. I was just another anonymous face in the crowd, much how we like to keep it. We're always around, and nobody notices,” Olyvar smiled, almost in a manner similar to Petyr’s, leading Sansa to the bathroom.

“I wouldn't care too much about that room,” Olyvar gestured towards the room farthest down the corridor and opened up the door for Sansa, leading to the restroom.

“That’s the room Mr. Baelish doesn’t want me go into? Why?” no answer came from Olyvar.

“What sort of mischievous torture device is he hiding?” Sansa asked.

"Oh, you do know him, don't you?” another bright smile illuminated the young man’s face, “You know what? I was just joking around when saying he hadn't taken anyone here before. He does of course, every now and then, he picks up a girl or a boy and he keeps them in there, with all his weird kinky BDSM stuff.”

Sansa had no reply to that. She wasn’t even sure she heard Olyvar right. Sansa was too worried the story was true that she studied Olyvar’s face to see if he was serious.

When Olyvar couldn’t hold it back any longer, he gave out a warm smile.

”Oh my God Sansa, don't fret, I've never been to that room either! Let me show you the glorious bathroom and your room, come here..."

Before Sansa followed Olyvar she gave one last stare at that mysterious room. Torture device or weird kinky BDSM stuff, she was going to have to check it out for sure.

Olyvar showed her the bathroom, with a luxurious bathtub, and after having talked in at lenght about it he finally took her to the room to the left.

”Littlefinger said you could order anything you would like, consider this yours entirely, you can check through these websites,” he said while handing over a small note with delicate handwriting, “And, please, buy whatever you need, we only had time to prepare a bed, very last minute, I know.”

Last minute? A King size in a room that could easily fit her entire burned down flat? Wow.

“It’s quite amazing. Not what I expected to be honest,” she didn’t mind showing her genuine surprise, “Thank you.”

She really was, thankful. And it wasn’t the house or the minimalism or the expensive overpriced furniture she had recognised from her ‘my decoration dream’ searches on internet. It was the time and effort Petyr Baelish had clearly put into making her feel welcomed.

Olyvar was pleased watching Sansa check even the tiniest of details. Littlefinger would be pleased - and eager to know everything about her first impressions, she was sure.

He was beginning to walk out of the room when Sansa’s voice made him stop and turn around to look at her: “Before you leave can I ask you one thing?”

"Of course, you can ask me anything, at any time, all you like.”

“Why do you call him Littlefinger?” Sansa asked, not sure if she was supposed to know the answer.

Olyvar gave her another soft smile.

"You didn't know?”

Sansa could almost see the discomfort shining through his otherwise delighted appearance.

“Well, about that... I better tell you, it'll be less dangerous if you know anyway.”

Dangerous? Was he being serious?

“You see, he's nothing but Littlefinger to us, it's his codename. Littlefinger is the man I work for. The man who could keep a girl locked up in that room down the corridor. But I will remind you to use that name carefully,” Olyvar paused, looking dead serious now, “Most people do not know who Littlefinger really is. The man you think you know is simply a businessman, a very good one perhaps, but Littlefinger is something else. Consider it, his better part. I know you've heard the rumours before, you've lived near him, you've been to the parties at his mansion. You've heard the name being whispered when you turn your back. You're a smart girl, probably put the pieces together yourself. People don't talk openly about him, it's dangerous - you might think it would be for him, but it's more dangerous for them. Knowing who Littlefinger is will keep you at your feet, you might think you have something to go on, something to hand in to the police even, but if you know about Littlefinger - Littlefinger knows about you. Don't you forget that Miss Stark.”

Sansa was scared now. She had truly only heard whispers about Littlefinger, but she had only thought it a joke, something that perhaps explained why he acted the way he did, but if really was everything Olyvar mentioned… well, she sure wanted this new found identity as an ally.

“Take care, and have a good night's sleep. Don't stay up, sometimes he doesn't come home until 5 or 6am,” Olyvar said before closing the door, “Goodnight, Sansa, see you in the morning.”

As soon as he closed the door Sansa could feel the silence washing over her. It was scary to think about how far away she was from the city. And somehow, how safe she felt inside that room? They couldn’t possibly get to her. Not now.

Sansa looked around the room and discovered she had a walking closet. Much bigger than the one she had before. It was filled with all types and colours of clothing that Sansa could think of.  
Very last minute Olyvar said. Sure buddy.

She found the night clothing drawer and picked a soft two piece. But before putting it on she knew she needed a bath. A long, hot, bubbly bath that could help her release all the tension she accumulated in the day.  
Several hours had passed, and as she was finishing washing she could feel her eyelids closing automatically. She dried herself as quickly as she could and put on her two piece.  
When Sansa came out of the bathroom all she could see was that long King Size waiting for her to get inside it’s blankets and finally let go. And she did. It was huge and Sansa was so happy for that.

There was one thought that brought her so much peace that her eyelids automatically closed, inducing her to the world of sleep. And that thought was “they’re not getting to me”. And she was right. No one could get to her. But, little did she know there was always one thing that would get to her… her nightmares.

 

* * *

 

**PETYR**

What Petyr really wanted was just to go home with Sansa that evening, a part of him wanted to stay by her side after having seen her going into full panic. What was it with her that made him weak? The recurring question with an answer Petyr never seemed to be able to find.

As he sat in his Aston Martin again he called the familiar number on his phone.

“Do you ever sleep, I’ve always wondered?” the smooth voice asked.

“You know me,” Petyr said, smirking at the road ahead of him.

“I do, and I also know that you rarely call just for a chat.”

“That would have been something.”

“Indeed.”

“Any news?”

“The girl says she won’t talk.”

Petyr could hear the uncertainty in the voice on the other end.

“I thought you were sure of your methods, I did suggest-”

“I know very well what you might have suggested, but by that I do not believe we would have come any further. She says she won’t talk until she’s facing whoever I am working for.”

“You know it’s crucial that we’ll wait until-”

“I do know, you’ve told me so.”

“Very well then, have you thought of a solution yet? Or are you growing old?”

“We are all growing older by each day, Littlefinger.”  
  
“Oh, I’m aware,” Petyr replied, his thoughts trailed back to Sansa with her beautiful hair.  
She reminded him so very much of Cat, yet somehow Sansa was much more beautiful than Cat ever was. Petyr smiled.

“And yet you seem all but aware of the facts, which is unlike you. I know you’re working on Sansa.”

Petyr almost stirred, he was happy he wasn’t facing the man right now. He, if someone, might have been able to notice his micro reaction.

“I’ve kept an eye on her since she moved back to London,” Petyr replied smoothly.

He couldn’t lie about this when the man clearly already knew about it. He had to play his cards well. You have to be reliable, Littlefinger whispered.

“I know, you know, a lot more than you’re trying to let on. Don’t take me for a fool, Littlefinger. Just a few days ago was the first time in weeks she updated her Instagram. We all know how very fond she is of social media.”

“You don’t expect me to believe you when you are, indeed, playing the fool now, do you?” Petyr knew that his friend thrived on similar businesses as himself. Information. Nothing passed without him noticing. They could play a game at that, and no one would be able to tell who would win. It was sheer luck that Petyr had been able to keep the man on his side for so long. If he ever wanted to outsmart Petyr, he if anyone, might have had a good shot at it. Thank God that his friend never had any interest in power. Unlike Petyr Baelish.

“No, I hope you would never disappoint me like that,” the smooth voice replied.

“Oh, I would never disappoint.”

“I do hope you won’t.”

“And you’ll see to that you won’t either.”

“Of course.”

“Talk to her again, if your method won’t work, try mine.”

“All but - but yes, I will.”

“Good then,” Petyr ended the call.

His drive took him to the Fingers once again, but this time he entered through another entrance.  
A guard greeted him with a nod. This was the staffs entrance, unknown by the customers but known to anyone who worked in his business.

When he got inside the lightning was dark with just a few candles lighting up the employees’ room. It was clad with soft beautifully patterned fabrics, just like within the actual rooms. Petyr had made a small hole into this room as well that no one but him knew about, it was a good thing to be able to have an eye on them when they didn't know about it, by having that, Petyr was allowed to see if any of the people working for him acted differently when in front of him compared to when they were with their coworkers or their clients. It was easier to spot if someone had their doubts, he would be able to repair whatever was damaged and knowing who needed to be dealt with next.

“Littlefinger,” Kayla greeted him.

A beautiful young girl who was the self proclaimed “boss” over the Fingers when Petyr was too busy to keep it running by himself. She had several tasks within the business, she was a part of his main team and security team as well, she kept an eye on the Fingers and was also one of those who looked to his customers needs.

“I've started training the new girl Marei, but I can't pinpoint what she's doing wrong, but I can sense it when being with her.”

“Bring her in,” Petyr ordered.

A small shy girl with long blond curly hair walked into the room and Petyr sat down in an armchair in one of the corners. She was very different from Kayla who was a lot broader with dark brown hair with matching eyes.

“Marei,” Petyr scanned her.

“Yes… Sir,” the girl replied.

She couldn’t be much older than Sansa, Petyr noted.

“I suppose you've worked in a similar business before, or else Kayla here wouldn't have hired you in the first place,” Petyr gave Kayla a look, and she lifted an eyebrow as reply.

The people who started working at the Fingers were all professionals, they had worked in the business often many years prior to having gotten here. The Fingers was no usual entertainment business, but one with class, one with the most exquisite range of services. The men and women working all came with something unique and often people would fall for a specific one with a specific quirk. Kayla had worked as an acrobat at a circus as a youngster. She could do things with her body no one else - that Petyr knew of - could, and Petyr had the world in his pockets.

“I started out after my father-”

“I'm not interested in your past, I suppose Kayla’s taken care of that,” Petyr interrupted, waving his hand in a disregarding gesture.

He was not interested in another tragic story, he had heard way too many. Petyr was only interested in whether his investment would be a good one or not. He really didn't like bad investments, at all.

“Well, you're not here to be paid for nothing. Kayla says there's a problem but I'm hoping she's wrong. Now, show me, go on.”

Marei stepped out of her silky dress which had barely covered her body in the first place. She was thin and even though she wasn't exactly short she gave an impression of being very young, looking barely a minor.

“Come here darling,” Kayla said with a sweet voice, yet with a hint of lust - acted, probably.

The girl moved towards her, and shyly looked at her.

“Well, do as we’ve practiced, no rush okay?”

Marei seemed rather a good actor as well. Petyr noticed how she took advantage of her shyness and using it to give the impression of a virgin, something that would turn on far too many men - and women. That could definitely sell. Petyr was proud that Kayla had come to that conclusion without Petyr’s help. She had learnt through the years hadn't she?

The two girls approached each other. One definitely playing the dominant one while the other gave away small soft moans as the first one started kissing her down her neck. They moved from standing in the middle of the room to the bed that was placed in the opposite corner from Petyr. The bed was placed in the far end from the hole in the wall so that it would be easy to see everything, not miss a single thing.

Petyr noted a few mistakes in Marei’s act instantly. She played along accordingly, just like any of them would, but if she would want to stay the “virgin”, she would have to be more clumsy. Not enough to make the costumer unsure of themselves but enough to make it seem believable, that it really wasn't an act and the people who would be paying to have her would believe they had the pleasure to take her to her peak for the very first time.

“Don't you… don't you want to join us?” the new girl asked.

“He never does, I think he likes to just sit there with his cock hard as rock. I think he comes without even having to touch himself,” Kayla said not leaving room for Petyr to reply.

“I'm saving-”

“Yourself for another, yes, you've told me before,” Kayla continued with her mouth on Marei’s neck as her hands roamed over her body.

“She must be very beautiful,” Marei said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, not really, impeccable bloodlines though.”

“What she doesn't know won't hurt her,” Kayla licked her way up the other woman’s body.

Petyr gave out a short laugh, it matched the smirk on his face.

“She won't know, she's dead."  
  
*** 

The time was closing in on 4 in the morning when Petyr was finally home. He could hear people chatting with low voices. He almost regretted having asked them to stay over to look over Sansa. He just wanted to be alone.

“Who would have known? Littlefinger has finally fallen for someone?” Daisy put her hand on her forehead and pretended to faint, sprawled out on the enormous sofa when Petyr entered the living room.

He just gave them a look that didn't give anything away. He noticed the look on Ros’ face, she looked doubtful.

“I always knew you would find someone,” Mhaegen stated.

Petyr just looked at them, always surprised at himself for not having grown tired of them long ago. If he could he would fire them all. But he couldn’t manage this business without them, too many threads to keep track on, too much work that might get him arrested.

“But did you see her? She's at the very least 20 years younger than him!” Daisy continued.

“Closer to 30,” Petyr corrected her as he hanged his jacket in the hallway before taking his place beside the sofa, leaning against the wall behind him with a confident smirk on his face.

“No way!” Daisy looked at Petyr and then at Olyvar.

“You should be flattered,” Olyvar laughed, he had been studying Petyr since he arrived, much like Ros that evening, “that Daisy thought you younger than you actually are, you know.”

Petyr laughed at that. He wasn't that old yet? Or was he? He would soon turn 49. He wasn't young anymore - but old? He had never considered himself old. Age was only a number after all, nothing more and nothing less, unless you let it, and Petyr would not let a number compromise him.

“Oh you're even grosser than I first thought!”

Daisy was always full of energy, always teasing, never afraid of stating her thoughts.

“I bet it won't be long until he's fucking her,” Daisy crossed her arms looking sure of herself.

The others exchanged some looks and laughed, all except Armeca. She never made a sound. Petyr preferred having her around, if possible he would have let her taken Olyvar’s place in his business, but then, that would never be possible. He needed someone with an actual voice to be able to lead and keep the team together.

Not everyone was present from his security team this evening, as he liked to call them, only the ones he had explicitly asked for.

“Won't you sit down with us?” Mhaegen asked with a sweet voice.

“No dear, I like my walls,” he mused.

“Always so boring! You'll miss out on the cuddles!” Daisy exclaimed giving Mhaegen a hug.

Petyr rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

“Okay guys, go to your positions, you know what to do,” Olyvar said still looking at Petyr while giving orders.

They left without another word, Ros giving Petyr one last glance before leaving; judging him.

When they were alone in the living room Petyr finally sat down beside Olyvar.

“She really is beautiful,” Olyvar said.

Petyr looked up the ceiling as he laid down on the sofa. He could feel Olyvar’s hesitation even though he didn't look directly at him, he didn't have to. Petyr could read people like open books and Olyvar was no exception even after his training with Petyr. Olyvar had not referred to any of the three girls that just until recently accompanied them, he talked about Sansa.

“You know, once I thought I actually had a shot with you.”

At that Petyr finally looked back at Olyvar. He looked him in the eyes and put his hand on Olyvar’s knee and slowly but steadily stroked up his thigh and pressed his hand flat between his legs. Petyr could feel Olyvar grow in his trousers and calmly took his hand away without breaking their locked eyes. Olyvar stretched from where he sat and touched Petyr without further warning, just like he had done, giving him a squeeze before pulling away, breaking their eye contact. Disappointed.

“I don't sleep with my employees.”

“Shame, I'm good, and rather expensive.”

“I'm the one who pays you anyway, without me you wouldn't be expensive.”

“I know the rest buys it, but I don't. I don't think you sleep around half as much as you like to brag about it.”

“If telling yourself that makes you feel any better, then go ahead.”

Olyvar knew the conversation had come to an end.

“Would you have wanted to, if I wasn't your employee?” he asked upon leaving.

“If you weren't my employee there wouldn't be an interest to begin with.”

Petyr let Olyvar leave, he stayed in the flat opposite to Petyr, someone had to stay close, just in case.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

It was a dark alley. The floor was wet as if rain had heavily poured down just hours before. There wasn’t a single light that would allow Sansa to know where she was.  
A long dark alley that seem to have no end. The design stayed the same even after walking through it for a while.  
Sansa looked forward, and then back, it looked the same both sides.  
‘Move forward’, that was the best thing Sansa could think of.  
Her legs starting moving, stepping into the puddles on the ground. She could feel her body shifting without making any effort, as if her legs did not belong to her. She wasn’t in control. All she could do was look around her as she advanced forward.  
It seemed like a never ending alley. It went on and on and on and nothing really changed as she was advancing.  
Then she heard a familiar laugh.  
Shit. Not him.  
Sansa tried to move faster but she continued to move at the same pace.  
The laugh was getting closer and she couldn’t run faster. Sansa could hear the footsteps that accompanied that horrible laughter.  
Sansa looked behind her and she saw Ramsay Bolton walking towards her, eyes wide open, looking directly at her. And laughing. That horrible laughter.  
She wanted to move faster but her legs were still unresponsive. Ramsay was close now. He wasn’t trying to reach her, he was just running towards her, his arms down and his eyed locked on Sansa.  
She knew he was near. So near she could almost feel his breathing on the back of her neck. That part of her neck where he had carved a mark the night he brutalised her body.  
She didn’t want to feel his hands on her. She couldn’t bear feeling his hands on her body again. He wasn’t allowed to… he never was anyway.  
He was right… there.  
She could feel him, his growth pressed on her behind.  
Sansa started screaming. She didn’t want to go through that again.

Her screams woke her up. Panting heavily, she sat on the bed looking at the shadows and figures of a room she was yet to become familiar to. She grabbed the blankets as she had many times before and covered herself.  
She felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the bedroom. She stood up, searched for a robe and left the room.

Sansa didn’t know where to go. She barely knew the flat and she hadn’t really payed attention during Olyvar’s tour, just felt astonished, and now she was drained.

She decided to go look for the kitchen. A glass of water was all she really wanted. Sansa remembered something about a large room and… maybe it was turning over… here, no, there… Several minutes later of poking around and going through rooms she was convinced Olyvar missed, she found the revolving gray doors.

‘Just go in there. Find wherever the glasses are, pour yourself some water, drink, refill and leave. And try to do this silently’, Sansa told herself. The plan sounded perfect. But it was going to fail drastically, since she was going to have a conversation that was going to change her relationship with Petyr Baelish.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr stirred when he heard faint footsteps approaching. Panic took him for a few seconds until he remembered having taken the young woman into his home. He had fallen asleep on the couch - probably sometime after Olyvar had left - for the first time in forever. Had he ever done that? Fallen asleep on the couch? He rarely used it at all.

Petyr got up and supported his weight on his elbows, still feelings slightly confused and not fully himself after waking. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself and opened them again.  
“Sansa,” he said softly, when he could see her silhouette moving towards the kitchen, auburn hair moving alongside her body, “you alright, sweetling?”  
Sweetling? That was the second time he had called her that. Petyr swallowed, raised his eyebrows at himself as he slowly moved away from the sofa.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

The water was filling up the steady glass that was being held by a trembling hand.

“Sansa,” a soft voice that made her turn around. It was Petyr Baelish, “You alright, sweetling?”

She could tell by his messed up hair that he woke up just recently.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Sansa muttered softly still holding the glass of water, “I just had-,“ what was she going to say? A nightmare? A flashback? A mix of both?

“I just needed a glass of water and it took me some time to find the kitchen. You’d assume being a big open loft would do the trick but I’m not used to it still…”

Petyr approached her, and shrugging slightly.

“That’s fine… I shouldn’t have fallen asleep anyway. Do you know what time it is?”

“Uhm no, I’m sorry. But I’m assuming it’s very late. Olyvar told me you’d come home late.”

“He did, didn’t he…” Petyr replied scratching the back of his head.

“What else did he tell you?” he questioned Sansa as he searched her face.

“Ohhh many things…” Sansa replied, almost teasingly, “You know, about what you liked doing in your free time. But I can’t really picture my uncle doing those things to girls, or boys to be honest,” Sansa let out a tiny smile.

“Really now?” Petyr quirked his eyebrow, “Why so? I’m too cold and proper for such things?” now he smirked playfully.

Sansa smiled back at him. She was feeling good, more relaxed. Ever since she stepped into the Baelish household, she felt protected. As if she was a little girl to be looked after. Sansa always enjoyed her independence but in these times where her intimacy had been attacked several times, first with Ramsay’s meeting and then with her safe house being burnt down, being taken care of was something she appreciated.  
But she wanted to know more. More about Petyr Baelish, the people who worked for him. She was going to live with them after all, it’d be better, even advisable as some would say, to learn more about her current situation and those who surrounded it.  
She took a sip of the glass she filled with water just moments ago.

“Olyvar... the people here... what is it exactly that they do?” Sansa asked, “I’m assuming they must have other roles, other than babysitting me and watching over the house?"

"Babysitting?" Petyr replied apparently amused.

"Well…” he began as he put on the kettle, "You are right about that, they do a little of everything. Whatever's needed."

That was an ambiguous answer. Sansa wasn’t satisfied.

“You know that word, 'whatever' leaves many things to the imagination…”

“You're very clever,” Petyr said, looking directly at her, “Well, we can play a game, if you want to. You make an assumption about me or the people who work for me, and I'll tell you if you're right or wrong?”

Petyr’s little game got Sansa’s attention now.

“Sounds fair,” Sansa replied.

Is this time to be direct? Was Petyr going to like it?

Baelish waited for Sansa to come up with the first assumption, as he started to pour water into two big rather fancy but simple cups and put what seemed to be overly expensive tea bags into them, handing one over to Sansa.

“Your business,” Sansa began, “Sometimes it's not all that... legal."

Petyr Baelish smirked at that red headed girl. She was smart. And direct. He seemed to like it, Sansa felt a bit better.

"True"

"Drugs?" Sansa’s second assumption came out a bit more hurried than what she had hoped for.

"Yes..." Petyr replied while sipping his tea.

Sansa was nervous now. Baelish had just confirmed that his business was dangerous and sometimes dealt with drug trafficking. She knew she was on delicate territory and even though Petyr Baelish was her uncle and had promised not to hurt her, she didn’t want to make him angry, make him feel as if this was some sort of game. It wasn’t a game for Sansa anymore and she had just some hours ago heard what happened to people that offended him from the man himself.

"Prostitution?"

It was Sansa’s first intuition when she saw Olyvar. A delicate handsome man like him would serve perfectly as a very expensive companion, like a doll to a child. Only that grown ups would do naughtier things to a doll.

"You really want to know?"

"I... I'm guessing that's a yes..."

Petyr hesitated for a moment. Studying Sansa’s every expressions. She had to learn how to control them better.

"Yes," he replied carefully.

"I don’t... wow,” was all Sansa could think of.

"You didn't want to hear that..."

"I just never thought you'd be involved in something like that..."

But she did think of it. There were rumors. She just never wanted to accept them?

“Has your perception of me changed?” Petyr asked but received no reply from Sansa.

“What are you thinking of me after knowing this?" Petyr questioned her, scanning that beautiful face of hers.

"That maybe I'm not as safe as I thought I was... you being involved in those type of businesses... nothing good can come from that."

Petyr Baelish put down his teacup.

"I may be involved with things I know you don't like or support, but I will never, ever, let anyone hurt you, Sansa. You are safe with me. I promise you. That's why I have people like Olyvar around, to make sure of that. I promised you, you would be safe, and I intend to keep that promise."

Was that a feeling of gratefulness going through Sansa’s heart?

"I'm sorry... it's just. It's hard to trust people. And somehow I idealized you? I should have assumed what kind of life you had."

"Idealised me? In what way? If it helps, I find it hard to trust people as well."

"You always seemed fair. And you always had a way with words. If you wanted something you knew your way around it. I just always thought you were a fair player. And now, finding out that you're not... Your power and money come from a business I'd be ashamed of dealing with to be honest," she was being honest.

She liked his connections and his effectiveness and the way he got things done, but now she found out that he not always played by the rules. It was like finding out your favorite author got it’s book written by someone else.

"I'm sorry I'm not what you wished for. I am not an angel, Sansa. I meant what I said, I can play the Devil for you. I'll do whatever is necessary, for you."

Sansa’s heart skipped for a second. Was that the second time that happened with Petyr?

“Oooops sorry.”

And their moment got interrupted by a woman with red hair, not as dark and vibrant as her own. She must be another of Baelish’s workers.

“Didn’t know you were here,” the woman continued, clearly indicating she had been aware, probably even heard their entire conversation, “Mr. Baelish, Miss Stark... sorry for interrupting, I’m Ros.”

"You were actually, indeed, interrupting something, Ros," Petyr replied, not even trying to conceal his irritation at this.

Sansa found Petyr’s way with words unfortunate. The girl apologized. It wasn’t as if they were slowly gaining trust on each other.

“It’s ok. We were actually finished,” Sansa looked at Petyr, not even trying to conceal her own irritation at him, “I’m going back to my room. Have a good night.”

Taking the glass of water, she moved passed them.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

“I’m sorry Mr. Baelish. I think she needs a break. It’s not always easy finding out the truth,” Ros looked smug and it lit a fire within Petyr that he rarely felt.

People were just background noise, he didn’t care what people thought, he didn’t care about their words or their pathetic attempts at getting him upset. But something about what Ros said got to him. She always knew ways, didn’t she?  
Petyr turner towards Ros, fighting to keep his cold expression in place.

"You're such a spoilsport, did you know?" he tilted his head slightly giving her a smile with nothing but bitterness.

"Well... you just broke the girl's heart. Telling her all about your business. She won't be looking at you the same way from now on. Will it be worth it?"

She was definitely mocking him. Had he always been this transparent? Did she truly know? Could she see how he slipped between Sansa’s fingers? How he felt like he lost control with her? Struggling to keep everything in place, in order? She could be the end of him - and somehow Ros knew it too. Knew that this young ordinary girl could turn the tables with him like no one else.

"You know, eavesdropping is not really a polite thing to do," Petyr lifted an eyebrow at her, trying to keep his perfect mask intact, "What should I have told her? She needed to know eventually anyway, there was never a right time to tell her.... The plans are changed however, we need to take down Cersei, and whether Sansa likes it or not she'll realise she needs someone with contacts and businesses like mine in order to make that reality. She's not a stupid girl anymore, she knows there's no nice way to bring down Cersei. It's not as simple as that. She'll be upset for the night maybe, but she'll get over it."

Ros shook her head at him, walking away from him back to the door with her hands crossed.

“She may not be stupid, but she’s disappointed. You’re gonna have to earn her respect again... and good luck with that,” she said not even giving him a last look as she left through the front.

Petyr sighed, and started for the stairs. He hesitated as he walked past Sansa’s bedroom door.

"Sansa... you still awake?" he said, barely a whisper in case she had really gone back to bed.

“What do you want?”

"I... I guess I wanted to say... I'm sorry, for earlier. I hope you'll be able to understand why I'm doing what I'm doing, eventually,” he could feel Littlefinger judging him for his weakness.

Because this was weak? Wasn't it? Giving in way too easily. He should feel satisfied with himself, for being able to give the impression of someone powerful, someone who could do anything. But this was Sansa, and somewhere a part of him cared what she thought of him. Why would he? Why would he care what a stupid girl thought?

Petyr started walking away from her door, upset with himself, but something made him stop for a moment. He grimaced and went back shivering slightly when he heard the words leaving his own mouth. What would become of him?

"Uhm... you looked upset when you came down there... you, okay?"

“I... Never mind... good night.”

What game had he gotten himself into? Petyr found himself fumbling after the right way to express himself. It was as if he had dropped a glass from his hands, and it had shattered beneath him. You’re wasting your time, Littlefinger said to him, you're wasting your time on this girl. You dropped the bomb way too early. If Petyr wanted to continue this fragile dance with Sansa he had to be more careful.

"If there's something bothering you, I want to know. Anything that can help that's in my power, I will do."

Sansa’s reply was unsure, as if she too was at loss with her words.

“I had a- nightmare. I always have nightmares... I haven't been able to have a good night sleep since forever.”

Petyr could hear her voice breaking at the last sentence. Suddenly he realised: Sansa was crying.

"Uh, Sansa, may I come in?"

“Yeah,” her voice seemed weak, but she tried to keep her voice steady.

Petyr felt the door lever under his hand, the metal cold at touch, and he turned it slowly. Sansa was indeed in her bed, her hands quickly wiping away her tears, hiding them.

"Is there anything I can do?" he said as he sat down at the edge of her bed.

“I want to be able to sleep for just one night. Not worry about nightmares or flashbacks...”

Petyr thought for a moment, taking his gaze away from Sansa.

"Did you know that your mother had nightmares too, when she was younger?"

“Did she really?”

Could he hear the slightest hint of happiness? Or was it his own mood that lightened at the thought of Cat once again? Was he truly that naive, still, after all this time? Cat brought all kinds of memories, even today. He wasn’t much better, even after all these years.

“Yeah... she was very strong and brave, even as a little girl, but she had them, it didn't make her any weaker. She often asked for her sister but she asked for me, once. I stayed in her room and slept on the carpet on the floor to keep her company,” Petyr gave her a half-hearted smile, trying to make her more comfortable but not truly feeling it himself, "Do you miss them very much?"

“I do. I never truly realised how very important they were in my life, until now. When I was younger I didn’t spend much time with them. I wish I had, when there was still time to do so, but I wanted space, privacy. As I got older, the need for my family became more present; to have them by my side. If I had known that we would all be separated by now, with my parents gone and my siblings God knows where… I would have showed them how much I cared for them much more than I ever did.”

"You needn't worry, they did know that you loved them, and cared for them. What you're doing now, trying to fight for what your parents fought for, they would be very proud of you. I'm very proud of you.”

Petyr could feel Littlefinger’s presence, but the angry comment never came.

He looked at Sansa and was met with a soft and kind smile. One that he didn’t deserve, not after everything he had put her through.

“How do you do it? Hide your secrets and wear a mask for everyone else?”

Petyr almost twitched at her comment, but he caught himself before his body reacted on it’s own. This was the second time this night he had felt like this, completely and utterly transparent. What had become of his perfect mask? He felt naked, but Petyr didn't move, he acted calmly. He was still in control. He could handle this.

"It's my work, it's what I do."

Sansa looked down at her hands, seemingly unsure. For a moment he almost expected her to ask for forgiveness, but it never came.

“I understand. But aren’t you tired though? Don’t you want to just be yourself? Sometimes I want to be open about my problems, even find help...”

"Yes…” he replied carefully, “I've done what's necessary for as long as I can remember. I'm not even sure who I am without all this," he continued gesturing vaguely at himself, “I don't know if I can ever be anything else,” Petyr looked at Sansa, “I, for one, know that it's hard opening up to people. Knowing who to trust. But you can put your trust in me, if you ever... need it.”

Sansa took her eyes off her hands, meeting his.

“Thank you. That means a lot... specially coming from someone who seems to be a drug lord and a pimp,” she laughed when she said the last words and Petyr couldn't tell if she was actively trying to lighten up the mood of their conversation, or if she was still thinking of what he had said earlier, but he gave her a smile and laughed with her. When did he last share a genuine laugh with someone?

"A drug lord and a pimp? I should have that on a t-shirt.”

“You should,” she said her laugh fading.

Petyr noticed her hands, almost fidgeting. She was still nervous. About his confessions? Most probably. Petyr found himself wanting her to feel safe, to actually keep her safe.

"Hey,” he said giving her another smile as he hesitantly put one of his hands over Sansa's, “I may be a lot of things but being me has it's advantages, and we'll get your party back on it's feet... I'll help you get yourself back on your feet."

“Mr. Baelish... Thank you.”

“Please, call me Petyr,” he put his other hand over both of hers, holding them gently.

“Petyr…” she said, unsure, almost as if trying to pronounce a foreign word in a strange language, “Is it ok if you could stay with me? Like you did with my mother?”

He smiled.

"Of course."

Petyr got up for a moment and tucked her in, soothingly touching one of her auburn locks very lightly as he straightened his back and went back to the end of her bed and placed himself on top of the duvets, leaning back on the wall behind him as he stretched out his legs in front of him to make it more comfortable.

"I'll be just here,” Petyr said, “Goodnight, sweetling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering: yes, we do RP all of this, the two writers of this fic only writes as Petyr/Sansa, not both of them - through all of the dialogues as well. Regarding the other character's it's mostly written by the person writing the character's POV but sometimes we help each other with those parts, so far Petyr is writing Olyvar and Sansa have written as Ros.
> 
> We're so exited to share this chapter with you, any comments, kudos, bookmarks are highly appreciated and we're forever grateful to you. Thank you for reading this RP fic!  
> I'm just as excited as you, to those who doesn't know what a RP is, you write as just one character and you might not fully know what the other character is going to do, we're kept as much in the dark as you are who're reading this (except for the ongoing plot behind the Petyr/Sansa relationship, that we've planned, it's not just improvisation).  
> Thank you all, hope you liked this chapter!


	6. Introduce yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SFW but with references of sexual and emotional abuse.

_Chapter 6:_   **INTRODUCE YOURSELF**.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Sansa closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the light from her night table invading the room, but she made an effort not to open them. She moved her feet slightly and felt Petyr there. His presence calmed her.

And that unsettled her greatly. Why did her body react like that whenever he was around? Every time he spoke to her she felt… what was the word? Reassured? It was as if his voice always offered a solution to whatever kind of trouble she had, big or small. Sansa wasn’t used to that. She wasn’t comfortable being dependent on others, least of all when it was about her personal problems.

She was different when she was young. Always dreaming and fantasising about getting married to a perfect prince, her life would turn out just like one of those fairy tales one often read about in the books. A young handsome prince, brave and strong, would come to rescue her from her tower, guarded by a big and dangerous dragon. And then she would marry him and they would have kids and live happily ever after. He would guide her, give her everything she asked for. That’s the way life worked - or rather, that’s the way Sansa thought life worked (except for the dragon of course, everyone knew dragons didn’t exist. Not in this life, anyway). She had been blind, young and innocent.

What really bothered her now that she was all grown up, was that nobody had told her that the ideal she truly believed to be true was all based on a lie. Her family often smiled and shook their heads. They knew her dreams were never going to happen. It’s fine to allow a child to dream, but you will have to tell them the truth eventually. Otherwise you’ll help feed that dream, and the bigger the dream, the bigger the disappointment upon finding out the harshness of the world. The actual truth, not the lie.

Sansa would have preferred to have her dreams shattered back then if she could have chosen, rather that than only realising the grim reality upon that cold, dark, starless night that was her wedding night. The night she found out the real truth about princes and happily ever afters.

That night… how could she even begin to explain? Anyone would tell her to try forget whatever happened in that bedroom, to “try and move on”, to make it “easier”.

But it wasn’t that easy. It’s hard to explain it. The more she tried to think about it, she realised she couldn’t remember. Her mind was protecting her of course. A trauma like that? The mind often decided to shut it down. As if making you a favor and saying: “you know that horrible thing that happened to you? Yeah, let’s not think about that. Oh hey! Look over there while-I-just-take-this-memory-away-and-put-it-in-a-chest-and-lock-the-chest-and-hide-the-key-from-you - you’ll thank me later!”, but she wanted to remember. Because she needed to move on. It was like a bad dream. ‘If it had happened so fast’, the little she remembered, ‘why do I remember it lasting a lifetime while it was happening?’ And the worse thing about it was that back then, she had never moved, nor did she ran. She had done nothing. She would never forgive herself for that. Ever.

In her dreams, the young prince would carry her to their bedroom, where he would slowly and almost timidly undress her as she undressed him. For the first time they would look at each other’s bodies. He would admire her beauty and she his poise. She would wait for him to make the next move. A kiss perhaps? On her forehead. Then, on her mouth. He would hug her and she’d be able to feel him directly on her, touching her skin. The heat between her legs would be there, present. Then, he would take her hand, caressing it and kissing it. A formal invitation to go to bed, where he’d wait for her to lay down comfortably so that he could join her, next to her. He would lay his hand on her waist, to which Sansa would respond with a smile. From this point on, he would make sure to go slow. There was no need to rush things. This night was all theirs.

Of course, that was what her prince would have done. Her wedding night was nothing like that. Sansa’s idea of a perfect wedding night didn't involve alcohol, humiliation, abuse or rape. She never thought a man - least of all, the man that was now her husband - would be capable of doing the things she had been forced to endure that night.

Sansa opened her eyes. Petyr wasn’t there anymore. He must have waited for her to fall asleep before leaving. Apparently he cared enough to do that. Sansa found that endearing. Was she starting to feel real affection for Petyr Baelish? She never thought that’d be possible. The man who introduced her to her worst nightmare - her husband - and induced her to marry him. He said he hadn’t known about him but Sansa had witnessed Baelish lying too many times before to naively trust that. He was a liar, an exquisite one. A man who wore his mask almost naturally, as if he actually enjoyed wearing it. But at the same time, behind that mask she also saw a shy man, a gentle one who sometimes looked away when their eyes met. A man who offered her his home, a place he hadn’t shared with anyone except the people who worked for him. A man who promised her to help her get her party back strong to face Cersei.

Finding out part of his business was based on drugs and prostitution was no surprise, but there was a part of her that felt a slight hint of disappointment. But why? Feeling disappointed only inclined that she was starting to care.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr had found he couldn’t take his eyes off Sansa. Seeing her chest heave in shallow breaths and later in a slower, steady rhythm, made him feel unusually calm. Her hair almost flowing around her, auburn locks that looked so very much like the ones he had grown up to adore. They were familiar, so very familiar.  
When Sansa was sound asleep and Petyr started wondering how long he had stayed there on her bed, just observing her like a hawk. Sansa was no prey. Petyr truly wanted to believe that, and in a moment of weakness he did. Where were the ever so present Littlefinger? What had he done to make him go away?

Finally, reluctantly, Petyr got up. He went up to her, looking down at her sleeping face; she was a true beauty.

“What’s so special about you,” he whispered as he took another lock between his fingers, curled her hair around them, feeling the softness before letting go.

He went to the door, opened it carefully not to wake her and gave Sansa one last look before he went out.

Petyr walked towards the door at the far end, he picked up his key and unlocked the door and closed it after him. He then closed his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding in. He sat himself in the armchair, taking out a box in the drawer underneath the desk and opened it. He carefully picked up a picture, a picture of a woman and a man smiling, looking straight into the camera and right into the camera, into his watching eyes. Petyr placed the picture on the desk in front of him, leaning his head on his left hand to inspect it. The women had long red hair with blue, kind yet sharp eyes and high cheekbones. What was it with familiarity?  
Petyr put back the photograph into the box, careful not to ruin it. I can’t make the same mistakes, he told himself closing his eyes, I just can’t.

The boy had cried all night. He felt ashamed feeling the tears burning on his cheeks. He felt stupid, so very stupid. Only girls cried, no boy he had ever known would ever shed a single tear. Boys were to become strong and fearless. But Petyr Baelish was no ordinary boy, and he had just lost both his parents. They were dead to him. Both of them. This was no news to him. So why was he still crying? He hadn’t even noticed people storming in, he hadn’t noticed the voices, the hands that carried him away, “you’ll be safe now,” they told him, “it’ll end from now on,” but so they always seemed to say, and nothing had stopped this from happening before.  
Petyr wiped away the tears, upset with himself. Would he always be this weak?  
Petyr woke, he immediately lifted his hand to his own cheek, to his relief: it was dry. He took a deep breath. It was just a dream, it’s over. Petyr Baelish closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself. When he opened them again he was back, in order, in control.

He checked his phone for updates, a new email. Him. Again.

“It better be good, I’m not in the mood for bad news,” he said coldly into the phone that was pressed against his ear.

“As if you’re ever,” the voice replied, calm, but Petyr could almost see the other man rolling his eyes at him.

“Well, go on, it’s 5 a.m and I still have a few things to finish.”  
Petyr noticed the slight pause he received before getting a reply.

“She’s agreed to cooperate.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes,” the voice replied.

“But there’s something else…”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“She understands that it’s not safe for her to go outside yet, but she demands more… as she likes to call it: freedom.”

“I suppose she’s made suggestions?” Petyr brushed his eyebrow with his index finger.

“She wants us to prove that she’s safe with us, by letting her have a phone. It’s bad enough to have someone staring at you while you sleep, can make anyone feel rather… imprisoned, you do realise that?”

His mind seemed to be echoing the word “sleep” after hearing it, barely noticing the rest. Petyr’s thoughts travelled back to Sansa, and her long eyelashes in the colour of autumn, her peaceful face as slumber had taken her, and those soft, soft lips of hers.

“Littlefinger?”

“Yes…” Petyr replied, still caught in his mental image of Sansa from about an hour ago, “Ask if she’s fine with using a phone under, say, a shorter period, to start with, so we can control who she’s in contact with, by that she can prove her loyalty to us as well - and you’ll be able to stop her if she tries to reach anyone we don’t want her contacting. It’s vital that this stays within our coalition. or else-,”

“Your plan won’t work. I do know.”

“Good,” Petyr stated.

“The Tyrells are determined to meet her. They’ve caught up on a trail that could possibly lead us to the boy as well. They’re good. You wouldn’t want to oppose them.”

“You, talking to me about the Tyrells as if they’re not manageable is ridiculous, truly laughable - but I don’t think I can spare that energy on you, my friend.”

“My friend, you underestimating them is preposterous. They’re almost as good as you when it comes to dealing with businesses and getting their ways, don’t let your large ego get the better of you.”  
“Oh I am aware, their help with tracking down the girl did indeed make it go incredibly smooth and fast, but don’t get me wrong, they’re just a pawn in the game. As you do point out, _no one_ is better than me.”

Petyr ended the call, not waiting for the other man to respond. There was no need to do so, and Petyr rather cherished those times when he got to have the last word with this particular old nemesis.

A - close to perfect - stack of papers was placed on his desk, with a sigh he started with the first bunch, looking through them as he logged into his desktop with a 20 digits password.

When the time finally showed 07:00 he got up from his armchair, a Le Corbusier; Grand Confort with black leather, and went out - locking the door behind him as he headed for the stairs.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

The water was indeed hot. Sansa always had trouble getting the water hot when showering in her safe house. It was an old building and the heater never worked appropriately. A problem that Petyr Baelish’s flat didn’t seem to have. Here it worked just fine.

She stood underneath the shower nozzle, the water running down her entire body.

Surprisingly for her, Sansa had had a good night’s sleep. It had been months since she last slept for 7 hours straight. Did Petyr’s presence had anything to do with that? It was the only thing different now. Well that, plus she was in a place where she felt as if nothing bad could ever happen to her. The flat was in a remote place surrounded by security 24/7, divided into two floors, the lower one that held the kitchen, living room and the offices of Baelish’s team and the upper floor, composed by bedrooms and where only Petyr and Sansa were allowed.

Sansa was just beginning to dry herself with the towel, when she heard voices from the lower floor. She could recognise Olyvar’s and Ros’, but not the others. She also noticed how Petyr’s voice was currently missing.

She was almost dry now and applied her body cream, and she reached out for her underwear. Wait. Where was the underwear? Shit! Sansa had forgotten to pick out her clothes before going to bathroom, and now she had to cross the hallway to where her bedroom was wearing nothing but a towel, which was by the way; super short! What kind of towels were even this short? Well, better do it now that Baelish wasn’t upstairs!

She gathered her things, tucked her towel tightly and peaked out of the bathroom. No one. She headed out of the bathroom, turned around to close the door and just when she was planning to tiptoe as fast as she possibly could, Petyr was approaching the top of the stairs.

“Mr. Baelish!”

Petyr carried a tray in dark wood in his hands, with a glass of orange juice, freshly made toasts, several strips of bacon and two fried eggs. He stopped abruptly when stumbling upon Sansa.

“Sansa, you look… like, you’ve been reborn,” he gave her a scan which seemed to be going on forever, starting from her feet and going up to her knees which were basically in the same height as his gaze and finally after an anguished moment reaching her neckline and then he met her eyes, “delightful as ever…”, he finished with a smirk playing on his face, ever so present, "I made you breakfast, my Lady," Petyr continued giving the tray he was holding a quick glance and then raised it to meet Sansa's eyes again, “Not entirely sure if this attire of yours is considered appropriate in the presence of a gentleman.”

Sansa lowered her eyes as fast as she could, fixating it on the tray in his hands. Was that really bacon?

“Oh my God, you made me breakfast?” she saw how Petyr in his turn fixed his sight on her apparel.

Sansa then tried to cover what she could with what little she had.

“And no, this view isn’t for you”, she continued her way down the hallway, covering the back of her towel in case it revealed something she wasn’t planning.

As she entered the room she heard Petyr’s footsteps following her. She went directly to her walking closet where she closed the door shut.

“Can you put the tray on the bed while I get dressed?” she shouted from inside.

“Not for me, you say? Who's it for then, someone special?" Petyr replied.

Sansa was looking through the wardrobe full of clothes that weren’t familiar to her when she heard Petyr’s words. She smiled at them. Sansa enjoyed Petyr’s sense of humour. It was hard to explain it but his teasing seemed to know exactly where the appropriate limit was so that it never reached the point where she would start feeling uncomfortable.

Sansa reflected on the situation that she had found herself in. Coming out of the bathroom and having to face any man with no clothes and no underwear would have caused Sansa some serious stress and panic. She would have felt completely vulnerable even if the other person would have had the best of intentions. But Sansa never felt anything close to that earlier in that very moment. Petyr was beginning to grow on her, she couldn’t deny it, and she was starting to get so accustomed to his presence that her body felt at ease whenever he was around.

“Someone special? Maybe?” She was just finishing to put on her jeans and shirt; a basic outfit, but her favorite, “Maybe I really should go out in search for a special someone, after all you failed on keeping your promise,” Sansa opened the door and found Petyr standing next to the door, “You left me alone last night when you said you were going to stay”, she made clear and crossed her arms, giving him her best shot at her angry stares.

Petyr’s expression changed slightly, for a moment he seemed more unreadable than ever.

"I did, then I had things to do..." He paused for a moment, “I am sorry Sansa, if I had known it was that important to you, I would have stayed longer than I did. I don't sleep very well, if I'm honest…”

Sansa continued to stare at him.

“I’m back now and I made you breakfast," Petyr said as if changing his mind to not tell her more, lifting his eyebrows, a hesitant smile playing on his lips - was it a smirk, or was it more genuine than usual?

“Yes you did,” Sansa approached the tray, “Bacon, huh?”

She grabbed one of the strips and began to eat it.

“This is really good!” She offered him a big smile while crunching her bacon .

"I'm glad,” Petyr said, almost hesitantly, but looking perhaps slightly relieved, “You see, I have an unrecognised skill for cooking."

Sansa grabbed the glass of juice and swept it down, almost in one go. Then she sat down on her bed, beside the tray, making sure the plates weren’t going to tip over, Petyr’s eyes steadily on her.

"You like the clothes we bought? I got help ordering the basics, nothing really outstanding in your wardrobe so far, we'll have to see to that. For certain occasions."

Sansa then looked at her shirt and jeans and gave him a thumbs up as she swallowed a bite of her eggs.

“They’re great. Better than what I had back in the safe house. Whoever helped you has great taste in style,” she continued to munch the bacon.

Sansa suddenly noted the silence between them and the amount of noise she alone was making with the bacon. She smiled at Petyr almost shamefully and offered him some.

"No, thank you," Petyr smiled, almost gently, but shook his head, “I vaguely recall it being Olyvar who looked through the clothing. You'll meet some of the others soon as well, they're waiting downstairs, but please, do take your time with that breakfast of yours. You'll see them enough for a lifetime anyway."

“You’re planning to have me for a long time Mr. Baelish?” It was her time to tease him, “Are you willing to take the risk of having me coming out of the bathroom close to naked every time I have a bath?” She asked him with her mouth full of bacon.

"Oh please, it's a pleasure having someone beautiful, witty - and someone that's actually tolerable around…” Petyr replied, even though he had given her a compliment he looked as though he was only thinking about the other people he had been referring to, “You're more than tolerable, Sansa, but some of the people working for me, well, though they might be of importance they do drain me of energy most of the times."

“I can only imagine. Being a pimp mustn’t be easy?”

Petyr gave out a laugh, unusual for him - he never laughed during the whole time they had spent together with her aunt in Ireland.

“What do you like doing when you’re not... you know, working?” Sansa asked.

"I attend other work related things? Parties, meetings, public appearances. It's what I do."

“You’re telling me that having meetings and attending to parties is your brilliant idea of relaxing? That can’t be right!”

"You really want to know?" Petyr leaned against the wall behind him, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, “Well, tell me what you find "relaxing", and I might give you a second answer to your question, not many people get more than one reply from me, Sansa."

Sansa stared at him, secretly accepting the challenge.

“Well I like reading. And taking pictures. Designing dresses,” she replied confidently, “You should try hobbies like these! You might just discover another side of you, you thought you never had… specially with the latter one.”

"Me, in a dress? I'd prefer to keep to my suits, but I like your dresses, they're very... exquisite."

“Your suits are exquisite as well. Elegant in the cut. And fashionable for any occasion. I like them,” Sansa couldn’t believe she had said that out loud.

Petyr gave her a long look before answering.

“Thank you, they're tailored, and most are custom made. Price is not an issue."

"You're taking forever, they're getting inpatient down here!" Olyvar's voice suddenly came screaming from downstairs.

“You might be surprised. They’re not interested in me this time, it’s you they’re so eager to meet,” Petyr said to Sansa, he was smirking, obviously not caring to reply to Olyvar’s voice in the background.

“Really?” Sansa was surprised to hear that.

That could only mean one thing.

“There hasn’t been a lady in the house for a while I assume?”

“The one’s here today are those who’ve worked closely on your case the last couple of years even, but they’ve all kept in the dark, at my request.” Petyr paused for a moment contemplating whatever he was thinking about, “Who told you that? Oh don’t tell me. Olyvar?” He quirked his eyebrow in a question.

“Maybe?” Sansa replied amused, “Should I go downstairs and say hello to everyone then?”

“Better get it over with.”

Petyr was obviously not amused at this but he was still smiling slightly at Sansa.

Sansa waited for Petyr to go first. He held up the door to Sansa’s bedroom and followed her outside and down the stairs.

In the short distance that separated both floors, Sansa tried to compose herself. Social gatherings still created a certain feeling of unease in the eldest Stark’s daughter. And the fact that these people were going to be living with her from now on - more or less but still - made her want to create the best impression possible.

Once they reached the bottom, they found Petyr’s team all gathered in a semicircle. No one said anything and for a few seconds they all looked at Sansa, some looking as if inspecting her, others as if seeing her for the very first time - even though that was probably not true, she remembered Olyvar having said that they had been around for quite some time. Sansa looked at Petyr for a second, and then back to at the small gathering of people.

“Hi, I’m Sansa Stark. Pleased to meet you all.”

"You've already met Olyvar and Ros, that's Daisy," Petyr began in an almost monotone voice.

Daisy stepped forward offering Sansa her hand.

"Mhaegen and Ameca," he continued.

But it was the first one who was mentioned that stepped forward.

"Hi, I'm Daisy. Ameca doesn't say much, but then she never talks to anyone,” the woman called Daisy turned her head to one of the others, a tall one with short blond hair, platinum like, “Actually... I'm not sure if I've ever been informed: do you have a voice at all, or are you born dumb?"

"Nicely put, Daisy,” Mhaegen replied, “Ameca might be born mute or she might not, but however is the case, she won't be wasting her beautiful voice on the likes of you when you act like that? Show some respect."

Ameca didn’t show a single emotion in return, a beautiful face turned to stone. Mhaegen then turned to Sansa: “I’m pleased to finally meet you in person as well!"

“Thank you. I never thought you’d be this many!”

Sansa was indeed surprised Petyr’s team were so many. She always thought a smaller group meant more control.

“Oh we’re way more”, Ros mentioned naturally, “The others are-,“ she suddenly realised Petyr staring at her, in his not-so-friendly-face, ”...are doing what they know best.”

“I see.”

"You like this flat?” Daisy asked changing topics.

“Yes! It’s huge. I never imagined they built these type of flats. Olyvar mentioned how the decoration was a group effort?”

"Definitely! Honestly, I hate this place, not to my taste at all. There's little to nothing here, and it is huge so why not fill it up, make it cosy, you know? God, talk him into buying some stuff!" Daisy didn't even look at Petyr, she was smiling at Sansa.

"Me and Olyvar talked about what we could do together to start getting to know you better, and we thought we could help you order furniture for your room?" Mhaegen enquired.

“Oh, but I thought it was already decorated? No?” Sansa asked.

"Decorated? Hardly! You only have a bed so far!" Daisy replied.

“When it comes to Olyvar and Mhaegen there can always be something more, and better! Trust me, you don't want to say no to those two,” Ros approached Sansa and whispered to her, “They’ll never let you be.”

“Oh ok. Sure. What did you have in mind?”

"We could sit in the sofa, I'll bring a computer," Olyvar suggested although Sansa felt that it wasn’t a suggestion.

Daisy grabbed Sansa’s hand and sat her down on the sofa. Now she felt unsure. Was accepting this invitation too much? He gave her a home, he promised he would take care of her and her job, and now his team were offering her to have a shopping spree with what she assumed was Petyr’s money? Sansa couldn’t help but to look at Petyr, as if asking him if this was all okay.

“Go on, choose whatever you like. As I said, money is not a problem,” Petyr replied smoothly.

Olyvar at the same time placing himself on the sofa opening up a Mac Pro.

He sat down next to Sansa and she looked at him, smiling.

“What did you have a mind?”

“Oh, I looked through a few sites, not that much really, and we could see what you like? Going for a theme maybe? Colours, or style?”

The computer in front of them showed at least 20 tabs or so, just a few sites, huh?

For an hour or so Sansa went through different pages with certain enthusiasm. There were several things she really liked, and knew she wouldn’t be able to afford if it had depended on a her own salary. She never was a girl with a stack of things. Money was never an issue in the Stark’s household either but Ned had taught his children how to save money and how to use it well, only when it was “absolutely necessary”. This austerity never allowed Sansa to increase her creativity in the way she was now offered to do. If there was a dress she wanted but could not be labelled as “absolutely necessary”, she would then inspire herself to design a recreation with a personal touch attached to it. The Stark had always been supportive of their children’s creativity, but not when it came to famous brands or already made things. The life Petyr was offering, this life, the “all the goods and riches”, it was something new.

Daisy moved closer to Sansa, finally taking her eyes away from her phone.

"Hey Sansa, why don't you update your Instagram again? You haven't posted anything in several months! Isn't it time to do so? I'm sure Littlefinger won't complain."

Mhaegen gave Daisy a look.

"What? Olyvar already told her about it, it's what we call him all the time anyway?"

“He might have mentioned something,” Sansa said smiling, “I completely forgot about Instagram... I have been busy you know. Preparing for the election day and all,” She flicked her eyes for a second at Petyr and saw him staring back at her, as if he knew that was a lie.

"Right, well, you can't really post any pictures, they carry all sorts of information with them, you know, where they were taken and all…”

"You'll be exposed within a couple of minutes, let's not," Olyvar intervened.

"I could help out though, secure your computer and all, and we could set up some sort of account if you want to be online again!” Daisy continued with an never ending enthusiasm, “Can't have people wondering whether you're alive or not!"

Sansa wondered if that was a joke but said nothing.

“You mean it can’t be a personal account?”

"Oh sure it can, I'll just, you know, make sure your computer won't be giving out any information on where you posted your things or when. Helps keep you safe. Then you can post all you like, oh it'll be tremendous! People won't be able to get their heads around where the fuck you are, oh God it'll make them so angry! You show them girl; even though they've attempted to take everything from you, you're still going strong," Daisy put a hand on Sansa’s shoulders, "Well then, I for one know that you have Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, you've used Pinterest and... sorry, you know all of this," she said smiling apologetically, "Anyway, they're all apps. Are youths these days only on their phones or do you have some sites in mind, like actual websites, where you can create an account?"

Sansa didn’t believe for a second that Daisy didn’t have something in mind herself.

“Well I heard about this new website called Tumblr. I’ve seen a couple of blogs I really like. Would that be okay?” Sansa heard someone on the office talking about it being the ‘new Facebook Groups with gifs’.

"Sure! Actually, I had a computer looked at earlier this morning, we were all in a hurry after getting the news of you staying with us yesterday," she said looking at Petyr, definitely judging him, “But I'm happy to have you around, you don't seem as grumpy as that one over there anyway, which is a start!" Daisy pointed at Petyr while talking and opened her bag, placing a brand new Mac in Sansa's lap.

"All yours, and ready to go! You should talk Littlefinger into getting a blog as well, he's not officially on anything,” she said rolling her eyes.

“You know?” Sansa said looking at her new Mac in wonder, “I might as well try! Mr. Baelish! Do you mind if we talk in private?”

Sansa stood up and went over to where Petyr was standing, leant back on the wall, looking more bored than ever.

“No, not at all," he replied giving her a hint of a smirk, “They got a lot to work with anyway, we can move back upstairs if you like?”

Sansa noted the way he had started talking with a more Irish accent again, for the first time since their travels back in Ireland about a year ago.

They started to walk away when Olyvar came in their path.

"Oh, and what will you two do in private, hm? You sure you can't find a place for me as well?" He said lifting his eyebrows at Sansa, either joking or flirting, or possibly both?

“We’re going to have a conversation,” Sansa teased him, “I’m afraid it’s adults only.”

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr followed Sansa back into her bedroom. It was probably the first time he had ever made anyone breakfast and Daisy had not been subtle when reminding him of the fact when he had started cooking. He almost never used the kitchen at all, in the end it was almost always Ros who brought takeaways over and Petyr ate the leftovers in the fridge if she didn’t come straight to him with a box, a stern look in her eyes but not making any remarks or giving any comments. They had grown used to each other, she was after all one of the first to have been employed to the inner circle, working closely with him at times long ago when it was just the three of them: him, Ros and Olyvar, working together on all sorts of illegal tasks. Petyr didn’t care if it wasn’t morally the right thing to do, if he got what he wanted in the end, it would be worth it. It didn’t matter what road he had to take to get there.

Now, they were six, and even more working at the Fingers. Although they were all just pawns, and nothing more, his team had expanded a lot through the years. He wish he could be working alone, it was how he had imagined climbing the ladder all that time ago, but time and experience had made him realise that things were never that simple. It would have been impossible for him to get to the point where he was today without the people working for him. There had to be people doing the dirty work for him, people who could take the blame if needed, people who could keep track of the things he didn’t find time to check himself.

Sansa turned around after closing the door behind them, facing him.

“First of all, what is it with all this ‘buy whatever you want thing’ going on?“

Petyr gave out a short laugh, of all things she could possibly have asked or discussed with him after having met and spent time with some of the people closest to him she wanted to talk about money? And not just money, which was a topic Petyr had grown rather fond of during the years - no, Sansa wanted to discuss him, spending money on _her_?

"Can't you let a man spoil you if he wants?" he said, replacing the unusual laugh with one of his more familiar smirks that fitted his face like a glove on his hand.

“I will only allow this spoiling under one condition.”

Oh, this could get rather interesting indeed.

"Go on."

“That you’ll introduce yourself to the world of... social media.”

Petyr felt something that could only be described as stunned, he felt as if the words had all left him. It was something with this Stark girl that could make him feel… thing. Emotions. The range of feelings he never experienced otherwise. Surprise, joy, even fear as it had been proven to him these last couple of days. He cared for her, Petyr suddenly realised to his dismay.

This is not the time, Littlefinger reminded him, bringing him back to reality, better take time off to think about this later. But when was later? If this would continue, he could waste into the open space. He couldn’t let her affect him like this. It had to stop - but at the same time Petyr couldn’t find himself wanting to.  
"This is your condition?” he replied, collecting himself, “Of all things you could have chosen?"

Sansa took a step forward, making the space between them somewhat smaller.  
“Of all things that matter to me, yes. Because from all these things, this is the only one where it’s me who can actually help you and not the other way around,” she smiled, one of those genuine smiles that made her whole appearance brighten up.

Petyr liked watching her seem confident with herself.

"Deal.”

If possible, her smile grew bigger.

Petyr looked at her while she opened up her new computer and started typing. She, wanted to help… him? No, she could never help him, he was the only one who could help himself and the only who was capable of helping her in her situation, this was something he had learnt through experience, this was something he knew by simple logic. Petyr was the one in control, this wouldn’t change.

He could almost feel Littlefinger’s presence, as if standing behind him, breathing in his neck. The so very familiar smirk that belonged to him, himself. ‘Don’t go ahead of yourself, you’re worrying too much,’ Littlefinger told Petyr. It was true, they were only talking about social media after all. Something Petyr was very much indulged with but never with his own name. In this virtual world they were now living one just simply couldn’t stay updated without the help of social media, it was one of the great sources of information, the place where words travelled almost at the speed of light, where news were believed even without facts. The perfect place of utter chaos, of manipulation, control, ownership. A place where Petyr felt at home.

“Here sit down,” Sansa said, tapping beside her on the bed as she had now opened up the site called Tumblr, “How do you want to call your blog?”

"Now, really?" Petyr sighed, half teasing her half bored with the idea.

Better get it over with. He cleared his throat before continuing: "What about Mr. Petyr Baelish?"

It seemed reasonable enough? It was his name, after all, and this would indeed be his personal blog.  
“I’m checking the availability hold on...” Sansa said while typing, “Look at that! It’s available! There you go! You are soon a proud owner of a tumblr blog!” she continued while handing over the Mac to Petyr.

"Can't say I'm very happy about it..." Petyr replied although a smile threatened to show on his face, he wasn’t happy about this, was he?

He leant in to fill in his email and password, typing “mrpetyrbaelish@protonmail.com” which was just one of his many email addresses and “2285969455238435278” as the password, his usual when it wasn’t concerning classified information.

He pressed the “sign in” button after filling in his age and then looked at the text showing: "no posts found", on his empty blog and then pressed "log out", looked back at Sansa and handed over the laptop back to her.

"Now it's your turn," he said.

“Oh no!!! The deal was you! Not me.”

Petyr felt surprised at this. No, he could not believe that to be true, she was trying to play him.

"Daisy said it would be good for you to get on there as well. This whole "tumblr thing" was for you. That's one of the reasons why you got a computer in the first place."

Sansa had a smile on her face, she could definitely be mocking him.  
“Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest... versus one account on tumblr. You still think you’ve got the winning hand here?”

"Come on, Sansa, I'm 49 years old, I can't have a tumblr alone. You have to have one with me. It's non negotiable."

“Or else?”  
Definitely teasing him.

"Do I have to beg you?"

“Nah... some other time”

The smiled on her face turned to a smirk somewhat similar to one of his, but hers was warm, as it always seemed to be, Petyr had noted.

After one last stare at him she finally gave in.

“I’ll make one,” she gave a shrug and reloaded the “sign in” page typing quickly.

“There! Done! Now we have to come up with our first post!” Sansa continued, trying to hand the computer back to Petyr once again.

She was enjoying this, definitely enjoying this.

"Oh no, I'm not doing that. Have you seen what kind of people are on this site? It's just porn, food and shitposts?"

“And photography, dogs and design. Come on! I can write it down for you if you want,” she smiled, teasing him again.

"No, let me..." Petyr took up his phone, downloading the tumblr app and showed the screen to Sansa, "See, I'm doing it."

She laughed at this, he liked hearing her laugh.

“Okay, I trust you. I’m gonna do mine then.”

"Be aware who you're challenging though, I'm good at shitposting.”

“Oh I’m sure you’ve got a hidden side of yours that was born to be ‘tumblr famous’”

Petyr gave out another short foreign sound that was probably usually referred to as a laugh. He could laugh at himself for this, for being so… so open, with this girl. It was bizarre. He had been more comfortable around Sansa than with anyone, she seemed to have that effect on him. If he didn’t pay attention he almost feared she would be able to make him spill all kinds of information.

"Anyway”, he said after a moment, “I have a few things I need to take care of. I'll be leaving the city for two weeks.”

Petyr had wondered what her reaction would be, it had been planned just this night, he didn’t really fancy leaving her but it was a necessity, he had to do it. Or so he told himself.

“Those five you've met so far are the ones you can trust. You may ask them anything, and they'll help you out as much as possible. Don't trust anyone else, even if they work for me, don't trust them, whatever they say. I'll be back soon enough. Olyvar lives in the flat opposite to mine and he'll be here from 7am to 7pm, Ros is the next person you can count on being around, she'll be here most of the time. Olyvar will give you numbers to each of them, if you need anything, just call. And also, it'll be better if you don't leave the flat until I get back, we got you covered, regarding your party, you got nothing to worry about."

Sansa’s smiled faded slightly, she was surprised, he could tell.

“Two weeks? That seems long…”

"We need to get started, if we want to get Cersei,” Petyr said trying to explain it to her, “I need to get in contact with some important players in the game, people who might sit on the information we need. But getting things takes time, and effort. I'll come back as soon as I've got what I came for," he gave her one last smile and turned, putting his hand on the door lever.

“Just stay out of trouble... Please.”

Petyr stopped for a moment. Had he just heard her say “please”? About him not getting in trouble? He swallowed, feeling relieved about the fact that he didn’t have to face her while hearing these words. She cared for him, he suddenly realised, after everything, Sansa cared about his wellbeing. Petyr dreaded over the fact that he too, cared about her. Maybe he needed this time away, to collect himself, get back on track. This wasn’t Mr. Petyr Baelish, this was the Littlefinger that everything originated from what seemed like a lifetime ago. He needed get back in control. Familiarity made him calm, reminded him of old memories, it made him vulnerable, weak. He couldn’t let this ruin him. Even if it was concerning the daughter of Catelyn Stark who reminded him so very much of her. Cat was dead, she was no more, and this girl would not be the end of him. He had to go, he had to set his plans in action.

"That's your mission, not mine”, Petyr said in an effort to say Sansa’s own words back to her without having to articulate them himself.

Littlefinger opened the door, smirking although Sansa wouldn't be able to tell, and Petyr: only half aware of it, “I'm always in trouble, sweetling, that’s what I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally we've gotten to the part in the story where Petyr and Sansa has created their tumblr blogs! You can now ask questions and we'll reply as they would in the "presence", meaning we'll reply with how they would write depending on what they've been through and are feeling so far in story - everything makes more sense from now on (on the blogs)! If you haven't checked out our blogs please do so, you may find them on @mrpetyrbaelish & @mssansastark on Tumblr! 
> 
> I personally felt that this was a difficult chapter to write, with a lot of everyday drama. I hope you're enjoying Baelish's team, we're currently calling them Team Baelish TM as a joke (but they are) and this part is the Team Baelish Sweet Life Drama part. If you're enjoying action there will be more of that in next chapter, if you enjoy the everyday life of Petyr and Sansa I hope you liked this one!  
> The writer portraying Petyr Baelish is also the one who writes Olyvar, and Daisy.  
> The one writing as Sansa Stark is writing Ros as well.  
> The other characters we do as we please with, this might change over time.
> 
> I really hope you liked chapter 6, hopefully as much as the other chapters and that you'll stay and continue reading as we write the rest of it - the plot has only just began!  
> Take care and hope to see you around for next chapter! Any kudos, bookmarks and especially comments are so greatly appreciated, we love to hear what you think about the characters and story so far, it's truly motivating us to continue writing this! Thank you!


	7. Face her demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on we won't be giving specifics on trigger warnings, I hope this is alright. A big part of the fic is about sexual/emotional abuse and there will always be references regarding these topics (the ones already tagged). If a certain chapter will contain explicit content I will write that out in the notes - in the beginning, but know that we will be explicit, there will be parts written for the full purpose of making the reader uncomfortable. Some actions, events or characters are written to be disliked and disgusted, and they could potentially trigger someone. So be careful when reading. If anything triggers you and you want to talk you can message me on tumblr and we can talk about it if you want to, any way I can help and I'll try. Thank you for understanding.  
> This chapter does not contain anything explicit but as any chapter all the tags above on this fic are applicable.

_Chapter 7:_   **FACE HER DEMONS**.

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

Petyr had only been gone for four days and Sansa was already wishing for his return.

On the same night that Petyr left, Sansa had trouble sleeping again. Her nightmares came back to haunt the in the lonely yet somewhat peaceful place she was starting to call home.

Her day by day was dull and monotonous. She had no company even though the flat was always occupied with people, Petyr’s people. His rule of not allowing anyone to the upper floor except Sansa and himself was starting to take an effect on her. That’s why by the end of the third day, Sansa decided that she’d spend most of her time downstairs, where Petyr’s team worked. Moments of small talk eased an uncomfortable silence that was characteristic when people didn’t know each other well or had just met. This uncomfortable silence would be followed by Sansa staring at one member of Petyr’s team, and them staring back. Then they would smile at each other. And then they’d leave Sansa to continue doing whatever she chose to do at that very moment, while they continued doing whatever their duty was.

Sansa missed her job. There was something inspiring about reading newspapers, study the latest poll results and come up with new strategies to convince the public to vote for her party. It had been long ago since she was in her office she recalled, the day she encountered Ramsay since her escape. Ramsay, and Cersei. That dreadful woman. A devilish one that had the Starks at the end of her aiming point since she could remember. Back when her father was still alive and working for the good people of England. But enough of her.

Sansa needed to go back. See her boss, explain her absence - they must have realised she’d gone missing? After lunch she’d ask one of the girls to take her to office. They wouldn’t say no, would they?

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

The dark had settled above them but this wasn’t the dark of the night, this was the dark and the cold of a tunnel down below a building people were still currently passing up on the street in broad daylight.

With a flash it was possible to make out the surroundings, concrete crawling what seemed to be miles and miles in either direction, it looked almost peaceful for a moment, until the faint anguished whisper broke the silence and it was no longer possible to pretend.

“Please,” begging words with no reason, trying hard to keep his head away from the light that enveloped him with spotlights in all directions pointing at him.

It was a big contrast, even for Olyvar, the dark turning blindly white without warning of it’s entry. It was a beautiful illusion in a way, the walls stretching around them, but then, Olyvar was standing behind the light. He was not affected by the light. He was safe. Safe? It was something he never even contemplated anymore. Safe, danger. It all seemed to melt together to an undistinguished puddle in a world like his. It didn’t matter. _Get rid of your feelings_ , it was the words he had been taught several years ago. Olyvar had wanted someone to define feelings to him, but it didn’t have to be as complicated as that. He wanted to believe that Littlefinger cared for him, cared for all of them - the team they in no doubt were - but he wasn’t sure. He would never be sure. Maybe he truly was just another pawn in the bigger picture. “It doesn’t matter,” Littlefinger once told him, “You’re good at what you’re doing and that’s what I need from you, if you can give me that, you don’t have to worry about a thing”, yeah, maybe that was all, maybe that was all he would ever be to him. Just another employee. Possibly it was as simple as that. But nothing was simple when it came to Littlefinger.

Olyvar bit his lower lip as he made the lamps shine even brighter, _bright like a star_ . That was something Daisy once had commented. For a moment they might have felt forgotten, maybe they felt relieve in that, that they could die peacefully without having to face the light again. But _they_ were not kind, they were ruthless, and if they wanted to them to face stars they would. Olyvar would make the light so bright that it would eventually burn into their eyelids, so that the marks would never leave them. So that they would see stars for all the years to come.

“Please,” the voice continued faintly.

Olyvar picked up the grey sticky tape trapped underneath one of the lamps. He ripped off a stripe with his teeth and stepped forward, putting the tape harshly over the mouth in front of him, making sure that there would be no more begging.

He turned around with a smooth move, lifting his hand in the air before leaving.

“I heard you were a believer,” he said, his voice ever as cheerful, “see this as... being faced with the face of God! Sleep well!”

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Sansa went downstairs and found the whole group there. Olyvar was on his phone, talking to somebody, Mhaegen and Armeca on the sofa with their laptops in front of them. The television was on, showing the news channel.

Sansa went to the kitchen’s zone to find Ros there. She was sitting down reading a document.

“Hey Ros, do you have a minute?” Sansa’s hands were sweating.

The very thought of asking was making her nervous, probably because she dreaded the answer.

"Yes, of course," Ros replied putting the documents down.

“I was wondering, if it would be possible, for you...” Sansa stared at her, measuring every word, looking into her eyes to see if she could find any reactions, “...to take me to see Brienne?”

Ros looked at Sansa without saying anything. A reaction that affected the person asking to actually wonder if this really was a good idea.

After several seconds had passed without a single word being spoken, Sansa smiled and continued.

“It’s just, it’s been a couple of days since I last talked to her? And I want to let her know I’m okay?” Sansa repeated the phrase she had been practising all day long in front of her mirror.

When silence reigned between them and the small hope Sansa had held inside vanished completely. She knew what the answer was going to be before Ros began to speak.

"Sansa dear, I'm not sure you've quite understood your situation,” Ros began.

A phrase that made Sansa feel like a complete fool.

“I hate to break it to you, but your house got burnt down for a reason. People are after you, they're threatening you and by showing up they'll have a lead, on where you are and what you're doing. We can't protect you if you go back.”

Ros was saying exactly what Sansa knew she was going to hear, and she hated her for that. Sansa even noticed how Ros’ spoke, the way she was connecting the words altogether were being done in a much slower way than her usual way of speaking. She was talking at her as if she was a little girl. Sansa didn’t notice how Olyvar approached them, leaning on the counter, right behind where Sansa stood, interested in the conversation. Ros saw him, shifted her eyes on him for a second and continued talking to Sansa.

“Not to forget, Littlefinger mentioned your plan, if it's to be successful you better stay inside girl, showing your hand is not the way to go.”

Sansa still didn’t understand it. If Petyr was telling the truth when he assured her that Brienne was going to be safe and looked after - not like she needed to but oh well - why couldn’t she see her? If she was so secure and away from any harm, why couldn’t she visit her?

“He specifically asks for us to keep an eye on you so that you wouldn't give anyone any hints about your whereabouts.”

Sansa wanted to interrupt her by telling her she wouldn’t be going alone, she would be going with one of them! Weren’t they the best of the best? But unfortunately Ros’ hand stopped her from sharing her idea out loud.

“You missing is beneficial when trying to beat the Lannisters, they have no clue where you are. If I were them, knowing you're alive and well but not knowing where to find you, I would be furious, and furious people make mistakes,” Ros smiled, “we're waiting for a mistake.”

Sansa was getting the idea now. This wasn’t really about keeping her safe more than getting ahead of the Lannisters. An idea that attracted Sansa but bothered her greatly, since _she_ was the one being used as bait.

“Plus, you and Littlefinger have miraculously found more time to make calculated plans in a world with too little time to do anything."

Plans that involved stopping Cersei Lannister.

A few seconds passed where Ros and Sansa just stared at each other. Sansa was prepared to make a case. Try to convince her, tell her they’d be extra careful, that she was ready to not tell Petyr about it, but the television beat her to it, when all three of them, Sansa, Ros and Olyvar turned towards it. Silence dominated when the news anchor announced how Cersei Lannister and the the Conservatives were ahead in the polls in next year’s election. Ahead by a considerable margin. No one in the flat dared to speak, knowing how difficult it must have been for Sansa to hear the news. She was away and nowhere to be found when her Party most needed her. She knew strategies, how to get to the public, she had studied England’s past elections in order to come up with a solution to her Party’s problems. But that was way before they were this behind in the polls. When turning back her attention to Ros, she saw her eyes were still on the television and then moved back to Sansa. These news made her reasoning even more powerful than before, there was no denying it.

“I guess you’re right,” Sansa replied, feeling helpless, “I’m sorry for interrupting you.”

Knowing that she lost her only opportunity to take her to see Brienne, Sansa turned around and headed for the stairs. Olyvar and Ros looked at her figure disappear.

As Sansa reached the top, she felt her fists clench. She was angry, disappointed, ashamed. Mostly with herself, for letting all of this happen. It was clear she was the target. The girl who dreamed of leading her Party, and one day, hopefully, help and serve her country. But it all stopped, all of a sudden. It was like she was taken from this earth and no one ever cared to ask what the hell had happened to her. She had been hoping to hear her name on the news right after she was brought to Petyr’s flat. A news that would announce the mysterious disappearance of the known to be last living daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. But that news never came. And the fact that it never came made Sansa realise she was no ordinary target, but a special one, an important one. The people who knew her didn’t want others to know she was missing, and there were _others_ who must have known she was being searched for, possibly at this very moment. Just like Ros had said.

She was angry at her for not accepting her proposal to see Brienne but she knew she was right. Deep inside she knew it was the safest and most logical thing to do, but that couldn’t prevent her from feeling hopeless, and alone, after all. Petyr and his team were all there, for anything she might need but - was that going to be it? She was locked away, with no contact with the outside world other than a television and a computer. Back in the days, before it all had started spiraling down, whenever things weren’t going the way she liked she’d usually go for a walk. The fresh air and the realisation that there were other people out there, on the streets, everyone of them following their routines and minding their own business was - reassuring to her? No matter how ugly it got that picture always reminded her that what seemed to her to be the worst day of all, was at the end, just that, a bad day. But then came sunrise, giving way for a new day. It meant many good things could happen. The bad day was in the past, the new day has yet to begin.

But she couldn’t do that anymore as well. She was in a cage, surrounded by familiar yet unfamiliar, smiling faces that weren’t going to hurt her, but she was still locked in a cage, after all. And it wasn’t so long ago when she promised herself to never end up in a situation where she’d be forced to do something she wasn’t up to. Her experience with Ramsay had taken a serious toll on her, as a woman and as a person.

“Sansa?” someone calling her brought her back to reality, her new bedroom, in her new home.

“Ros sounded a bit harsh there, you okay?"

It was Olyvar. Right at the end of the staircase, with his hands leaning on the handles, not shouting, but making sure only Sansa could hear him.

For a moment Sansa was going to ignore him. What was the point in answering when she knew what he was going to say?

But then, her new self, the new Sansa that stood up straight when she saw something she didn’t like answered.

"No, I'm not,” her first words came out sounding angry, “I understand people want me, and most want me dead. I get that. So what? I'm never to go out? Ever again? I need to go to my Party. I need to go see Brienne. I lost most of my family already and I'm not going to lose the few people I actually care about just because _something_ might happen. The ‘What if’s don’t have a place in my life anymore,” Sansa breathed in, “I'm not going to go through this again. No one is going to tell me what I can or can’t do nor where to go."

Olyvar was quiet for a moment, looking as knowing that Sansa wanted to let out the feelings she had held back when talking to Ros.

"I understand that you're upset, Sansa. You want back and you have the right to, it's just that there are some complications involving your wellbeing, and that comes first. If you want your plan to work, you better listen to Littlefinger. He's always right when it comes to these things,” Olyvar paused, giving Sansa time to process his words without sounding as though he thought her stupid, “if he wants you to wait, it’s for a reason, it'll work out for the better."

“So I’m supposed to what? Stay here? Wait for him to come back so he can tell me what to do?” Sansa made a pause, “you know, this is no different than my time with Ramsay.”

Olyvar probably heard the pain hidden behind those words.

“The only difference is that this time, the man who’s keeping me away from the world is a man who hasn’t broken me....” Sansa continued.

"Broken you... what do you mean?"

Sansa felt as though she had said too much. Her time with Ramsay… well, she had never really told anyone what happened to her during that time. Not even Brienne even though they had became very close. She barely knew Olyvar and Sansa was in no mood to have someone pry over the past.

"Broken, Olyvar,” Sansa replied, wanting to find words that would explain what she meant and felt without revealing too much, “broken by someone who knew exactly what to do, how to do it and where to do it. To hurt me, to humiliate me and make me feel like I was _nothing_!" Sansa lost control of what she was saying and felt the tears coming.

"Sansa... whatever you've been through, there are ways to heal your wounds," Olyvar said.

"With patience and love and understanding? Yeah, I dont think I'm going to find that staying locked away from the world," her tears falling down.

"Things do take time Sansa. Won't you try? I don't fully know what happened between you and Ramsay. But if you need to talk to someone, you can come down and talk to Ros”

Phhh Ros, Sansa thought. Right now, Ros would be the last person she’d go to.

“I can leave you two alone if you want,” Olyvar offered, “talking helps Sansa, even for the smallest of things and Ros has studied psychology. She can help you."

Sansa knew talking helped, she also knew that a trauma like hers was absolutely required she’d open up to somebody. Seeking counseling was necessary if she wanted to move on. And Sansa wanted to move past all the pain, all her insecurities when it came to men, and of course, all her nightmares.

"I'll think about it," Sansa replied and silence fell when she closed her bedroom door.

***

A few hours had past. Sansa heard the door to Petyr’s flat open and close several times, meaning the team was beginning to leave. They didn’t care to approach the set of stairs and say goodbye, they must have known she was upset and is they were allowed to check, Sansa’s closed door was an indication she still wanted to be left alone.

Her computer rested on her lap as she laid on her bed when she heard the door close for the last time. And then she felt it. The absolute silence. Petyr’s whole flat just for herself, but Sansa was quite comfortable inside the four wall bedroom and wasn’t planning on getting out anytime soon.

A little vibration sound caught her attention, indicating there was a new notification on her phone. Sansa stood up, leaving her computer on the bed and went to her desk, where she left her phone charging earlier on.

In the brief - but considerable - distance between her bed and the desk, she wished for a new message. And although she’d never admit it to anyone, she wished it was Petyr Baelish who sent it. She missed him. There was something about him that soothed her, made her feel protected. It had been five days since he left, went away on some business trip which he had never cared to share the details on. The little time they spent together before he left reminded her of her time with him in Ireland, where she got to know the other side of Petyr Baelish. The private one, a side of him she’d never pictured. She had grown to love their conversations, about any topic really, politics, life… love. He spoke very fondly of her mother Catelyn, often shared stories with her of when they were young.

She got to where the phone was and looked at the screen. _“VOGUE.com just posted a picture!”_ one of her social media accounts kindly informed her. Damn it! Why didn’t he send her a message? ‘He’s busy. He’s on a business trip. Business. He doesn’t have time to send you messages…’ yeah but, what if something had happened to him?

 _“Hi, how are you?”_ she started typing, and deleted it almost immediately after finishing writing it.

 _Hello, was thinking about you.._. Absolutely not. How could she ask him how was he doing without sounding… needy? Or clingy? After staring at the phone’s screen for a while she gave up and decided not to send anything. He was busy. He would let her know how was it going when he thought it was best. End of story.

 

Sansa could hear the wind blow outside. She peeked out the window for a moment, the sky was dark, the trees that surrounded the land that conformed Petyr’s flat moved violently. That was the only sound she could hear, no traffic jams, no loud pedestrians, just the wind. ‘There is a storm coming’, she thought to herself. She grabbed the window handles and shut them tight, making sure the wind wouldn’t slip through and wake her up at night. She then opened the covers of her bed and laid down to stare at the ceiling. Letting out a deep breath, she turned over and saw the phone resting on her night table. She grabbed it and looked at the screen. Still no messages. _Are you okay?_ she typed. Sansa needed to know he was okay. There hadn’t been any news about him and his team didn’t share information with her; however his they didn’t look worried, so he must be okay… right? Sansa dropped her phone to her chest and sighed heavily.

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

Sansa sat up rapidly, covering herself with the sheets. She was all alone, at least that’s what she thought. She tried not to move, scared that she would make a sound. The wind continue to blow - _knock, knock, knock_. She stared at her door, breathing fast now. She saw the handle being turned slowly. Whoever was outside was trying to open the door.

In a bold move - that surprised even herself - Sansa left the bed and opened the door.

There was nothing there. The hallway was dark, she stepped out into it as if it was an unknown territory to her. She turned her head towards the staircase and saw a light being cast on the lower floor. Sansa could have sworn she had turned off all the lights right after she grabbed her glass of water, and had headed upstairs.

And now there was a light that was turned on.

She gathered the little courage she had left - she wasted it all when she had opened the door - and went downstairs. She was still coming down the stairs when she saw which light was left on. The kitchen’s. She sighed in relief, it made sense, maybe she hadn’t payed attention to the lights when she left after all.

Sansa continued her way down but stopped abruptly. There was someone sitting in front of the counter. She could see a pair of trousers and a leg bouncing up and down, in a fast rhythm, the kind one does when nervous. A movement she recognised all too well, which made her not wanting to get to the end of the staircase.

“Sansa! I’m so glad you came.”

A voice spoke and confirmed Sansa’s suspicions.

“Here, come down, take a seat, I made dinner for you,” Ramsay was smiling, inviting her to join him at his right.

There was indeed a plate, with cutlery and a glass next to it, waiting to be used.

This couldn’t be happening. How could he be here? This flat was supposed to be safe, patrolled and protected by Petyr’s team. And yet here he was.

After a moment’s hesitation he approached her and pushed her gently to the counter’s direction. She sat down and waited for him to speak.

“Sansa, my dear, I’ve been thinking about what happened between us and-,” he looked down, at the floor, as if the words he was looking for were written right there.

He seemed to have found them as he continued speaking: “I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”

Ramsay was looking directly in her eyes. Sansa was terrified this was happening; in real life. It wasn’t the first time he apologised like that. She remembered what had happened the last time he made her believe he was actually sorry for the treatment he had given her. Sansa hadn’t been able to walk for three days.

“It’s ok,” was all had been able to articulate, “can I leave?”

Ramsay cocked his head.

“But I made you dinner. Don’t you wish to try it at least?”

This was too much for Sansa to handle. This had to be a nightmare. Everything was off.

Sansa wanted to scream, hoping the sound of it would wake her up. Her hands had started to tremble, in fear of what was coming.

“Please, Ramsay,” Sansa cried, “don’t hurt me anymore.”

“Sansa,” he replied softly, his hand caressing her cheek, “I’m not going to hurt you… _sweetling_.”

She felt his words as a punch, that left her out of breath, her head vibrated. Or something else did.

Sansa opened her eyes and found herself still in her bed. Her phone vibrated again, and while letting out a deep breath, she sat up.

First message read, _“Hope you're alright”_.

Second message read, _“I am”._

Sansa knew who the sender was, and her desire for his return increased.

***

 _‘Talking helps Sansa, even for the smallest of things, and Ros has studied psychology. She can help you_ ’. Olyvar’s words kept repeating over and over in Sansa’s head. _‘She can help you’_. Last night’s experience made Sansa make up her mind up about seeking help. All this time she had avoided it. Sansa had never been the kind of person who talked about her problems. She liked to deal with them privately.

But this was beginning to take a real toll on her. Her nightmares were beginning to come more frequently, and the nature of them, creepier. She remembered her first nightmares had begun right after she’d been able to escape Ramsay’s hands. They were mainly flashbacks back then, of moments when they were together. But as time went by, they started to change. The scenery changed, the actions changed as well. Sometimes he was his usual sadistic self, sometimes he wasn’t. He’d be polite and considerate, everything he never showed her in real life.

There had been one night where she didn’t suffer from bad dreams. That was the night Petyr had stayed with her. But Petyr wasn’t going to be around all the time, was he?

So that morning, Sansa took the first step into trying to get rid of them once and for all.

Ros sat in the living room’s only sofa, typing on her phone with her computer in her lap. If Sansa had to explain to an alien what ‘the era of technology’ meant, she would show him someone like Ros right now.

“Ros, can I ask you something?” Sansa asked, in a low voice, not really wanting to interrupt.

“Sure, go on,” her finger continuing typing on her phone, she just glanced at Sansa for half a second, not moving her posture away from the computer in her lap.

“Olyvar…” Sansa resumed, lowering her voice even further, “Olyvar mentioned you studied psychology?”

“I did, it’s fortunate, since none of these people around seem to know how the human psyche works.”

“I… I was wondering if you- could help me, with some problems I have?” Sansa said, unsure whether this was a good idea or not, “I don’t know, I’m sorry, you’re probably busy.”

Ros’ sighed, first putting away her computer, then her phone, almost instantly, as if not caring that she hadn’t finished whatever sentence she had been worked on.

“Go on,” she said, but her voice seemed softer, and the usual edge wasn’t present, “Petyr didn’t order me to stay in his flat for no reason. What’s on your mind, Sansa?”

“Well I…” better get to the point, “I’ve been having these nightmares, for some time now. And I don’t know what to do...” she looked at Ros, “I don’t want to have them anymore.”

“I’m glad you want to talk about it, Sansa. All people have nightmares sometimes, but that doesn’t make them any more pleasant,” Ros replied, “it has been proven that talking helps, if you want, we can try to understand what they mean together?” her focus was all on Sansa, it was a side she’d never really shown before.

“Well… it’s always about-,” Sansa paused.

She still found it troubling to mention his name.

“My ex-husband. He’s always there, always present. Either coming after me or just standing there,”

Ros’ was quiet for a moment, as if inspecting Sansa, but her expression was kind and not judging.

“Sansa, I can’t pretend as if I don’t know that something happened. You don’t have to talk to me about it, but I think you should talk to someone? Did he ever do something that made you uncomfortable, do you think that is why your nightmares are surrounding him?”

For a brief moment Sansa wanted to end this conversation, tell Ros this was just a misunderstanding, turn around and leave as soon as she could. But no, she had to do it. She had to start face her demons.

“He… well… he hurt me… several times,” Sansa paused again, searching for words.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to share that much with Ros this first time. But then again, who better than her?

“He forced me...”

Ros was quiet, waiting for Sansa to decide whether or not to tell her more.

“He forced me, to be with him. It started on our wedding night. And continued for the remaining of our time together.”

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

Olyvar was working when he saw Sansa walking into the open space of the lower floor, reaching out for a glass, letting the water stream until it was cold, checking the temperature with her finger. She looked gloomy these days, he wasn’t sure if it was due to everything she had been through, everything he didn’t know about, or just the simple fact of her being forced to be inside all day, not being able to do what she loved doing.

Olyvar slowly moved up from the sofa, leaving the papers behind as he moved as quietly as he possibly could. Using all the advice he had gotten from Littlefinger on not getting noticed.

When he was right behind her he lightly stroked his hands against her neck, touching her hair and making it fly around her as she jumped in response.

“Oh my God!”

Sansa dropped her glass, the water spilling all over the floor as it went down. Olyvar leant down just in time, grabbing the glass when it was only a few inches from the floor.

“Olyvar!!! Why on earth did you do that!?”

“Shit, Sansa, I didn’t mean to…”, he stopped, catching himself before finishing the sentence as he realised how very stupid it would sound, “-scare you? God, that was obviously what I was trying to do. I’m sorry,” he laughed apologetically, feeling stupid for a moment, “you okay?”

Olyvar scratched himself behind his ear, he gave her a smile and then placed the glass on the counter, taking some paper towels and crouched, mopping up the water with his hand.

“Well you did!” Sansa said, letting out a nervous laugh.

“Hey, I… I don’t want to pry or anything, but, did you ever talk to Ros? I don’t want to push it but it really can be helpful?”

“Yes. I did. She’s helping me… understand. Thank you for the tip.”

“Oh? I’m glad to hear that. She’s great, kinder than what she might seem,” he winked at her, getting up from the floor and threw the papers in the bin beside him.

He was actually happy to hear it. Olyvar had followed Littlefinger’s slow but steadily growing obsession with the girl. There was no other way to describe it. He had even been jealous of her once, for always seeming to catch Littlefinger’s attention wherever she went. It had all started with a 14 year old, childish smiles and laughter seemed to surround her like a mist. Olyvar hadn’t really cared much about her back then, but he had learned that his boss’ interest only seemed to increase as the time went by. It was much later that he had started to get missions regarding miss Sansa Stark. It was a long time ago now, and when spending time with her he felt as though he had known her since forever. But where was the lie? He almost had. He had almost known about her existence as long as he had known Littlefinger.

“She really is… So, you’re here? It’s Friday, I’m guessing you’d wish to be out there with your friends and not looking after me?”

Oh she really was a kind hearted woman.

“Don’t worry about it, this is my life, Sansa. We don’t have many friends - as you may call them - other than our team. I mean, we attend parties and have loads of contacts but most of us are all just working undercover. We learn a lot about others, but there’s no time or place for them to learn anything about us,” he let out a short laugh.

It wasn’t like they could either, even if they would have wanted to. They came and went depending on what was necessary or wanted from them at the moment.

It was funny, wasn’t it? It was all true. The life Sansa’s words had portrayed to him for a split second was one he had never had, and probably one he would never live to know.

“I should be thanking you, Sansa. Honestly I would just be spending this night doing…” he stopped mid sentence, realising he had almost said too much.

Either way the Stark girl was a woman of morals, of kindness and justice. The words he might have let slip out of his mouth were not ones she would approve of.

He laughed again, as was his way of handling things.

“Come, join me in the sofa, will you?” he gestured towards it, smiling as he walked backwards, still facing her.

“I can imagine what you’d be doing,” Sansa replied, laughing back at him.

Olyvar turned, climbing graciously back where he had been seated before Sansa entered the room; thinking about what she had in mind. He wondered if she knew about the man beneath the building about an hour away, the one he went to during the nights. But no, Littlefinger would never let her know. She was too pure for his world, for their world. Once it had almost been like that. Just the two of them. But that was a reconstruction, a memory he had modified to his own liking.

Sansa followed him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

“How did you meet Littlefinger? How did you get into this world?”

She was interesting, this girl, her thoughts seemed to travel in the same direction as his.

“Uh…” he started, unsure how honest his reply should be, “I worked for a man, he was not much unlike Littlefinger regarding his high status, I was um… I met Littlefinger through my boss at the time, after certain events Littlefinger took an interest in me. He said he had a job offer, gave me several tasks. I thought that was it, and I would have been satisfied with that but I later learned that was all just a test,” he laughed again, “just to check if I would be up for the real work that would come. I was then introduced to Ros who was the only one working this closely with him back then, we all got along, I past the test, got hired, and here I am.”

Olyvar smiled, gesturing at himself.

“Wow! Littlefinger has been very picky with his team, hasn’t he?” Sansa looked genuinely amused and Olyvar liked that, seeing her smile, a contrast to these past couple of days.

“Say, why are you the only man? Is there a reason for that?” she asked.

“I want to say that I’ve always served a special place for Littlefinger but, sadly no, I’m not so sure why…” he thought back for a moment, back to a time when he thought he and Littlefinger could have been something.

They would have been great together, storming the world, creating chaos wherever they went, fucking in every corner of every darn cubicle in every stupid skyscraper owned by people with too much money in their hands.

That had never happened.

Olyvar was found by Littlefinger, as had they all been. Sometimes put up to a task, a test of sorts, without even realising it until they got in touch with him. Most of them started out at the Fingers. As if the man was checking if they were able to use every part of themselves in order to get where was needed, as if wanting to see how far their limit could go before breaking, looking for the hints of enjoying the thrill of it, if they could make sacrifices. Sacrifices for money.

“Maybe the man has actually realised that women are capable of just as much as men when it comes to our line of work,” he said instead, thinking it almost true as he said the words out loud.

They were good, they were the best, the ones working close to Littlefinger. He had seen to that, choosing them all for a certain reason, adding what was missing to make the perfect team. A team that could demolish the world.

“Well big change begins with smaller ones right?” Sansa continued, showing her political views in every word, and then she went quiet for a moment.

Olyvar found himself wanting to know what she was thinking of, and then she started again: “you remember when we met, you showed me the house… you said something, about Littlefinger? About how he liked to be with-, well, with boys…” she sighed and Olyvar wondered if it was due to the question being difficult for her to ask, or because of the answer she feared coming, “please tell me that’s not true?” Sansa laughed when finishing the sentence, but the laughter showed nervousness and not amusement.

He looked at her, unsure for a moment.

Sansa was indeed a woman of morality, she wouldn’t ask because she feared the man’s sexuality was not in the vast majority, she would ask because it mattered to her personally.

With a feeling growing inside him a realisation made itself clear. She _was_ interested in him, in Littlefinger. What was it with the man that made people fall for him? Olyvar felt like hitting something very hard. Littlefinger would ruin the lives around him, and his own, without even realising.

“If you’re interested in him, I wouldn’t be too nervous about it. I’ve seen him with both men and women,” he answered, carefully.

“Oh my God, no, I’m not interested in him! I was just… curious. I’ve seen him with my aunt so when you mentioned _men_ I was like… He never gave me that vibe I guess?”

Olyvar laughed, he smiled at her. Oh, if she only knew.

To Littlefinger it didn’t matter, he had always done what was necessary to get where he wanted. Olyvar had been with him for a long time, and the years when he started was also about the time when Littlefinger had wanted to determine his status. He had worked hard to get where he was today, there were no doubt in that.

“He likes them all,” he said, “but I’ll let you in on a secret, he’s just as picky with them as he has been with us working for him.”

So much was true, Littlefinger never used sex for pure and simple pleasure like the men who came to the Fingers. He used it to assure his wealth and power, to get where he wanted, achieve whatever plan he currently worked on. Olyvar had often been witness to Littlefinger’s seductions. He had wanted Olyvar to pay attention, to learn.

Olyvar found the people, the people that were important, and Littlefinger seeked them out, with Olyvar’s eyes watching them, as the shadow he had continued being all this time. Some things never changed. Just as the fact that they would never end up in each other’s arms. He would never taste the mint on Littlefinger’s tongue, the scent he seemed to carry wherever he went. Olyvar wanted to believe it was all an act, that it was because Littlefinger knew the dangers of initiating a relationship with one of his employees that held them back, away from him. He was a businessman, a professional. Littlefinger would never let Olyvar into his private life - and yet, the hope that he one day would change his mind never seemed to disappear.

“Really… and what’s the longest he’s been with-, a man?”

Olyvar laughed again.

Sansa’s presence brought out the best of him, but her words forced out the bitterness hidden inside. The thoughts he buried deep down. Littlefinger had never had a _relationship_ with anyone until he married Lysa Arryn, Lysa _Baelish_. The notion of her being able to use Littlefinger’s last name made him feel anger. If it was jealousy, Littlefinger would not be pleased with him. How many times had they not talked about feelings, which ones were necessary, which would always be in the way, making life more difficult than it could be, than it should be.

Olyvar lifted his eyebrows at Sansa.

“I never said he’s been with a man, I said he’s been with _boys_ ”, he teased her, remembering the words he had used to scare her when they first officially met.

He touched her leg with his foot gently, smiling

Sansa opened her eyes wide, for a moment she seemed to truly believe him and Olyvar felt triumph, but then she broke into laughter, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

When she realised Olyvar hadn’t followed, that he wasn’t laughing at this odd choice of words, she stopped. A worried expression on her face.

“Oh my god, has he?!”

Olyvar was quiet for a moment, teasing her even further, until he couldn’t take it any longer, and started giggling as well.

“No!” he chuckled, “I would never imagine him…” his laughter died out slowly, “no, not with a boy.”

He fixed his eyes at the space between them in the sofa, thinking about himself, his 17 year old self who had met Littlefinger, someone who had seen something more in him than anyone else had ever done before. Seen something that could be worked on, something that could be perfected. No, Littlefinger would never be with a boy.

“I bet you are interested though, aren’t you? In him, I mean?”

Olyvar smiled, changing the topic back again as he looked up, back at Sansa.

“What!!!” her voice sounding high pitched and Olyvar smiled in return.

It was obvious: they had both fallen for the same man. and if she hadn’t fallen yet, she had started to.

“He’s... family. He’s my uncle,” Sansa’s voice sounded normal again, calm, as if reflecting upon the matter.

“Only by marriage though, not by blood,” he said, not sure if he was trying to make her feel better or if he was just continuing to taunt her.

He winked, making sure _she_ wouldn’t be uncertain of his intentions anyway.

Sansa gave out a short laugh in reply, and Olyvar felt relieved with his capability of hiding his emotions, imagining Littlefinger proud.

“I don’t think he’d be interested anyway.”

Olyvar smiled gently at her words. Oh, how she tried, he thought.

“ _Anyway_ , you say? Sounds as if you _are_ interested in him! But I’m not blaming you, he’s very hot - for being so old.”

Sansa broke into laughter with him. He enjoyed that, seeing her laugh.

“You should be happy he wasn’t here to hear that! I remember Robin called him old once… Next day his favorite toy disappeared. Never to be found again… Coincidence?”

“How very Littlefinger of him!”

They laughed again and Olyvar felt real genuine happiness, a feeling he had almost forgotten. He liked spending time with his team, with Littlefinger, but it was all work related. Feelings wasn’t something Littlefinger valued, and they were always in the way. They all made sure to stay professionals, only portraying emotions to play others.

“So… what about you? Are you seeing someone?”

Olyvar smiled. He would never be able to be with someone. It was not possibly to include anyone in the life he was living. His only hope was Littlefinger, and with him, there were almost no hope at all. At least, not anymore.

“No, I’m not,” he replied calmly, choosing not to give the question back to her.

Sansa was still married to Ramsay, and the feelings she might have towards Littlefinger were new to her, and Olyvar knew she would never admit them, even if he tried to prove his case.

“Are you… sorry to ask. Do you mind me asking? I really don't know how to ask this-“

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted, “go ahead, I’ll tell you if it’s all ‘classified information’,” he smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Are you gay?”

The question everyone always wanted to know. Once, he had truly believed that to be true, that he was a homosexual. That nothing could make him feel attraction towards women. But Littlefinger had known how to teach him, how sex wasn’t all feelings. One had to learn how to control it, see sex for what it really was when having the profession most of them had had. Being able to give your body to anyone who payed, to give, to anyone who wanted.

“I don’t see any reason to define myself,” he replied, remembering Littlefinger’s own words spoken to him many years ago.

There was no need to define a person who occupied themselves with giving their bodies to others. Their choice of label would never matter, only the customers did, it was them who’s definition would define a person like himself.

“Have you ever been with a girl then?”

Olyvar let out a short laugh, oh he had, many times.

“You really want to know? But yeah, yeah I have.”

Sansa paused for a moment, seemingly unsure how to continue the conversation, or, she was just not certain how to phrase whatever was on her mind.

“Am I good looking enough?”

“Enough for what exactly?”

“To-, you know… find someone? Some day?”

Olyvar smiled then, leaning over so he got closer to Sansa, reaching out so his fingers brushed hers.

“Oh, you worry too much, you look beautiful,” he gave her another smile, reassuring her, “find someone who’ll want to be with you for who you are and not just for your looks. Someone who’ll appreciate and respect you for just being you. Looks aren't everything.”

“I guess you’re right…” she looked down her lap for a moment, and when she raised her head again, her eyes seemed to sparkle.

“Hey,” she smiled, “would you date me?” she laughed when finishing the sentence.

It was probably meant as a joke, but Olyvar felt as though there was seriousness concealed underneath.

He laughed in reply, then added: “what did I just say, Sansa? You better get to know me first!” he smiled softly, “although theoretically, yes, I would.”

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Talking to Olyvar was making Sansa feel much better. She hadn’t had a conversation like this in days, although Sansa felt it more like years.

They were sitting in the sofa, Olyvar telling her about that time he’d almost ended up in a Peruvian jail, and Sansa telling him about how her designs almost made it to the finals in a New Designers Contest she took part of back when she was still in Secondary Education. It was during their sharing of experiences that Sansa’s phone vibrated, a new message from no other than Mr. Petyr Baelish, but neither of them realised until it was too late.

A few hours later their conversation adopted a much more serious atmosphere. They talked about family, about the people that meant something to them and their losses.

“... and then I honestly don’t know what happened to Arya” said Sansa, finishing a story that still hurt to think about.

“The public seem to be considering her dead-,” Olyvar stopped when their conversation got cut off by his phone.

He looked at the screen to identify the caller that had just interrupted them.

“Sorry, I better take this,” he smiled apologetically and took the call, “yes?”

“Sure,” Sansa smiled back, trying to let him know it was okay. When he started talking she picked up her own phone to check social media.

“Oh, about that… No, yes, I most certainly will,” the moment she heard Olyvar’s reply, she saw she had a new message on her phone, and without opening it, knew exactly who it was from. ‘Shit, how come I didn’t hear the notification?’ When she was about to open it, Olyvar concluded his conversation.

“Yes, right now,” after hanging up he stared at his phone for a few seconds, “shit... “ he said giving out a nervous laugh, “have you seen how long we’ve been here talking?” he then gave Sansa one of his brightest smiles.  
“Oh my God you’re right… Is everything okay?” Sansa overheard most of his conversation, not wanting to ask who it was. She knew Olyvar was better than that and wouldn’t give her any details.

“Littlefinger would not be pleased,” he said almost to himself, smiling as he shook his head slightly, moving up from the sofa and headed towards the door.

When passing Sansa he leant down, just a bit: “it’ll be our little secret.”

“I think I can do that,” she replied, “under one condition?”

Olyvar stopped for a moment, watching her, waiting for her to continue.

“That this won’t be the last time?”

He smirked back at her in a way that reminded her of Petyr.

“Then we better keep to that,” he winked as he left her alone.

When Olyvar closed the door, Sansa opened the message Petyr had sent, the one.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀You doing OK? Things are going as planned. 8 days until I’ll be back._

Sansa’s first initial reaction was to smile. The nature of the message was overall… sweet? He wanted to know how was she doing, as if he had sensed she had been trouble sleeping since he went away. He also wanted to let her know everything was all right. His way of saying ‘Don’t worry’, but in a way that didn’t make her look like she _actually_ worried.

But that wasn’t what really made her smile. It was the fact that Petyr Baelish, part businessman, part mystery, knew how many days were left until he’d come home. Sansa pictured him opening his calendar and _actually_ counting the days, with the help of his fingers

She made a mental note to tell him how cute it sounded. Hearing whatever excuse he came up with to justify that part of the message was going to be a lot of fun.

He sent the message at 19:01. And that wasn’t good, considering it was now way past midnight.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hi! Sorry for not seeing this until now? I’m good. The team is taking care of me._

She felt something was missing in that message.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I hope to see you soon!_

Sansa was going to close the messaging app when she saw Petyr going online, her heart skipped a beat, and skipped a second time when she saw he began typing.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀If possibly reply as soon as you get my messages._

Well that wasn’t what she expected. Not after telling him she hoped to see him soon. Sansa didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀If inconvenient, try anyway._

Nor that either.  
She took her time to come up with something. She could tell him the truth? Tell him she had been with Olyvar talking and that they had lost track of time? But that wouldn’t be right. After all, Olyvar was working for him, and he had a schedule, and the fact that he stayed over late just to talk to her made it look as if he… nevermind she told herself. ‘Tell him you fell asleep and only saw his message just now?’ her mind told her.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m sorry. I was with Olyvar_

‘Or not’.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀We got carried away_

‘Good job. If that call Olyvar got wasn’t Petyr, he just found out Olyvar spent more hours with you than he was allowed to’. Oh shut up. Sansa found it difficult to lie, and admired those who seemed to do it so easily. She must be the only politician who felt this way.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀For how long exactly?_

Well… They started talking around 6pm? And now it was almost 1am? Which meant they had talked for 7 hours… Shit. It was a good time to practice her lying.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Mmmmmm idk, 3 hours?_

Please God make him believe me.

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There’s a reason to why he can’t stay longer than scheduled. I’ve arranged so that you’re not alone during the days. He has work he must attend as well, and he needs sleep. As well as you._

Sansa felt horrible now; for Olyvar. He had stayed with her knowing he had work to finish. She would ask him not to stay over next time. 

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m sorry. I was feeling down a bit and he wanted to keep me company. It won’t happen again. Sorry_

She didn’t know what else to say to be honest. 

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It’s fine. I’m glad if he can be of any help._

Was that all Petyr had to say about it?

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀You should sleep._

She really should - but at the same time she was afraid: she had such a great time with Olyvar, just talking, interacting with another human being, who was at the same time sweet, funny and interesting, all around?

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’ll try. Good night._

_⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Night._

And with that, she went to bed hoping nightmares wouldn’t ruin the wonderful day she’d had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter of introducing Olyvar POV; old and new feelings arise?  
> I hope you enjoyed reading about him (and there's almost no Petyr this time?).  
> (We fucking hate Ramsay, join us in the club).
> 
> We’re very grateful for each and every comment, please let ut know what you think!  
> The one usually writing as Petyr writes as Olyvar this time as well.


	8. Not worthy of a star

_Chapter 8:_ ****NOT WORTHY OF A STAR**.**

 

* * *

**SANSA**

A few days had passed, and Sansa’s day-to-day continued as usual, only this time her relationship with Olyvar seemed different somehow. They talked more, and it seemed as though he seeked her out whenever he had free time just as much as she appreciated his company.

Olyvar was sitting on the sofa, writing on the computer in from of him. From time to time he would look at Sansa, who was laying down just a few inches away from him reading a book. It was a rainy day, as it had been the day before, and the day before that. He must have noticed how Sansa’s mood was very perceptive of the weather, she could tell he tried his best to cheer her up whenever he was finished with whatever report or work he had on his agenda.

“Are you going to read all day?” he teased, poking her leg with his foot.

“What else can I do?” Sansa replied rather dully.

Olyvar closed the laptop and put all his attention on Sansa.

“What makes you say that? There are lots of things we could do.”

Sansa put her book down and looked at him.

“Like what?” she said feeling pretty uninterested but tried giving him a small smile.

“Well, for a start, if you wrote as much as you’re taking time off to read you could become a famous author?” Olyvar winked at her.

Sansa let out a genuine laugh this time.

“Uhmm… no?”

“Oh okay… Well, then we can start a band? You could be the singer and I can play the guitar? Or, we can discover a new star and name it, let’s say, _Littlefinger_? No? Maybe he’s not worthy of a star, hm… We can build a fortress? Become astronauts or invent a way to travel as fast as the speed of light and go into the future? Start a new computer company that can be called pine… apple?”

As soon as he started pointing out all the fun possibilities they could undertake Sansa’s mood slowly began to change. Olyvar was witty and he knew it. He knew how to use it to his advantage. And Sansa was ready to give it to him.  
“Pineapple?” Sansa gave a roaring laughter, “that all sounds _very_ tempting, but I think I’ll pass.”

“Oh…” Olyvar lowered his gaze, obviously pretending to look disappointed, “we can cook something though, might get bored soon of all the takeaways from fancy restaurants?” he smiled, trying not to laugh.

Apparently it was all they ate in that flat, takeaways.  
“Cook? In the short time I’ve been here I know for a fact that that fridge over there,” Sansa made a pause and pointed at it, almost accusingly, “...is kept empty. What are we going to cook with?”

“You talk as if it’s not possible to _fill_ empty spaces, Sansa, they’re empty so that we can fill them with things”, he exaggeratedly rolled his eyes at her, “go on, tell me, what do you _crave_?”

“Wow… that easy huh?” she looked at Olyvar with a teasing smile.

She wanted to test him, see how easy it was to _fill empty spaces_ in the middle of a Sunday when all the markets were closed.

“Ok… let’s see…”, Sansa locked her eyes on him, studying him.

Olyvar stared back with the same intensity, as if trying to read her mind.

“I want to make…”, think of hard recipes, think of the hardest one. What did her mom say once? _“You haven’t proved yourself in the kitchen, until the recipe of Beef Wellington is completed”_. Sansa’s face lit up with excitement and mischief.

“I want to make Beef Wellington.”

“Beef Well… yeah, yeah sure! We’ll do that. It sounds great!” Olyvar took out his phone, “let me just, you know, order things,” he raised his eyebrows and started typing.

Meanwhile the ingredients were on their way Sansa and Olyvar prepared the kitchen, deciding which oven tray was ready, sharpening the cooking knives - not like they needed that much of a sharpening, they all seemed new to her - and then Olyvar’s phone started ringing. After picking it up, he nodded to Sansa, pointed at the phone, and mouthed: “I’ll go down and get it.”

Several bags about to burst and a pair of legs was all Sansa saw when Olyvar came back up.

“Here, finally,” he said setting the bags down on the floor.

“How did you…”, she began.

Ten minutes had passed since he typed away at his phone until now. What kind of market was this and where could she find it?

“Oh my god, do we really need all of this?”

“That fridge needs to get filled once and for all,” he stated, giving her a smile.

“Good thinking,” Sansa laughed.

After separating what ingredients they needed and putting away all those they didn’t need, Sansa was ready to start. Her Mac was open with the recipe on the screen, her hands had been washed, her right one now holding a knife and an onion in front of her.

Right before she delivered the first cut Olyvar interrupted her.

“No, hang on!” he exclaimed, walking fast to one of the bags still in the hallway that they seemed to have forgotten about, “Sansa, we can’t cook without wearing… these!” he came back, showing Sansa two aprons, one of them; elegant, black, and the other one in pastel pink, with fringes and broideries all over the chest displaying cute small flowers.

Sansa startled.

“What… is that?” she pointed out the pink one, “I’m _not_ wearing _that_.”

“What? Oh, _this_?” Olyvar held the pink one up to make it clear which one they were talking about, smiling when seeing Sansa’s face, “No! This one’s for me!” he said, looking oddly proud.

It seemed genuine and Sansa found herself staring at the apron and then at Olyvar and then at the apron again.

“Oh my god, you really _are_ special.”

“You’re only getting that _now_ ? I’m like, an _original_ or something, you won’t meet anyone like me,” he laughed as he handed the black apron over to Sansa and put his on - it was almost too small for him.

Not letting go of the knife Sansa allowed Olyvar to help her put the apron on. He took his time, measuring the amount of pressure of the straps that surrounded her waist and finished making a nice bow.

From cutting, to chopping, to peeling, they divided each other’s duties, working as a team. Sansa found herself really enjoying cooking with Olyvar. He was a tease, pretending he knew the techniques and recipe by heart when he so clearly didn’t. When they put the beef in the oven they sat at the sofa with a glass of wine in their hands.

“10 to 1 it’s going to give us food poisoning,” Sansa said.

“What are you talking about? It’s going to be great. It’s just because you’re jealous of my cooking skills,” Olyvar replied, winking at her.

“I’m not jealous of your cooking skills, but I must confess, I am getting a bit annoyed about you ending up with the prettiest apron?” right after saying that she let out a yawn, too fast for her to cover her mouth, “oh God, I’m sorry.”

Olyvar replied with a warm smile.

They were sitting closer to each other than usual.

“You tired, already? It’s not as if it’s that late anyway?” he said while reaching out with his hand, his fingers brushing her cheek as he spoke.

Sansa stared at Olyvar, feeling his touch, a caress that she had not felt in years. His hands were incredibly smooth and warm and she surprised herself welcoming his touch as she closed her eyes.

The timer went off, breaking the moment, leaving Sansa startled. Olyvar stood up and went for the oven to check their magnificent piece of art.

Sansa grabbed her phone, no messages at 7:17 pm.

It _was_ getting late and Sansa recalled her conversation with Petyr. _‘There’s a reason to why he can’t stay longer than scheduled’_.

Olyvar came back to the sofa to tell her about the state of the beef.

“I’ve got good news and bad news… good news is, it looks edible, bad news is… it looks edible, what else can I say?”

Sansa laughed, but with a heavy heart.

“Olyvar, it’s getting late. I don’t want to get you in trouble like last time…”

“You didn’t get me in trouble, Sansa, I’m the one who did,” Olyvar’s voice was reassuring, calm and steady, “but anyway... it was worth it.”

“Are you sure? We can always eat it tomorrow? You made this afternoon memorable and I wouldn’t like it to be ruined just because we skip a rule, again?”

“Honestly, I’d really like to stay… look, I know you’re very honest and just for being a politician, but if you would allow one little lie we could just, not tell him, you know?” he looked a bit unsure, his gaze lowered but his mouth still smiling.

Sansa replied back with a kind and warm smile, it was her way of thanking him.

“I kind of want you to stay as well…? And not just because I’d be alone, but like… I really like being with you?” she didn’t want to make it sound weird but unfortunately it did.

She sighed and looked at her feet, a bit ashamed of what it might have looked like.

“So… beef you said?” Sansa asked, not really sure how to continue the conversation.

“Yeah, definitely!” Olyvar was smiling, putting his hand on her shoulder.

“8 to 1 we’re going to end up dead or taking turns in the bathroom.”

“Please, don’t exaggerate it, we’re going to be fine!” Olyvar countered.

They got to the kitchen and looked at their masterpiece. Sansa’s face turned into a sea of uncertainty.

“Not really sure to be honest. You sure about this?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. You don’t want to try?” Olyvar asked.

“I do… you go first.”

Olyvar smiled at her as he set the glass of wine, picking up a knife, cutting a piece and put it in his mouth.

“Mm, it’s good,” he said, chewing once, twice, “definitely _very_ good.”   
“No way… really? Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Let me try.”

“Yeah, yeah you should,” Olyvar chewed slowly, “actually…” he continued, disappearing behind the kitchen island, spitting into the bin.

When showing up again he made a face, conveying his disgust in his usual humoristic style.

“On second thoughts, no, don’t bother trying it.”  
“I knew it!” Sansa laughed and pointed at him, “I knew it!” she paused looking at him, she was cheered up now, completely forgotten about the weather.

“Now what? We have to eat something!”

“Yeah… I guess we’ll have to order super overpriced food anyway,” Olyvar let out a sigh, and smiled at her.

“Ugh, I guess we’ll make the effort?”

Olyvar ended up ordering food. He somehow managed to get a Beef Wellington out of nowhere, coming up with the boxes and surprising Sansa with the real thing.

The beef looked delicious and the taste was even better. They continued to share more stories, little traits that surprised each other.

After lunch, they cleaned the evidence of their disastrous adventure and decided to watch a movie.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

The room he had been given was quiet, this was his evening off. The day had been hectic, people talking in each other’s mouths, not giving place for air or consideration. Petyr had been standing beside it all, listening to their stupid arguments with their stupid voices until he couldn’t stand it any longer. His replies always seemed to shut people up, it amused him greatly, seeing their faces twist in fury, trying to get their little heads around his sentences, wanting to outsmart him, but all in vain. It never worked. They knew why his plans was the better, there was no denying his reason, they just couldn’t make themselves admit it, staring at him with empty expressions on their faces.

There was a lot to do and he had to be efficient in his work, or else there were not time enough to finish it all before going back to Sansa.

_Sansa_.

Petyr was laying in bed, his computer beside him, ever ready to continue his work. He glanced at it, tempted he reached out with his hand and logged in.

He pressed the gadget he had almost forgotten about since just a few days ago. He had gotten it installed many years ago but had never really found a reason to use it, until now; he had started to grow rather fond of it. It was not much different from the way he’d always done things, the way he made sure that no one would be able to betray him without him noticing.

On the screen a small window popped up, showing what at first looked like a white empty space - but it wasn’t. A grey sofa was visible in the left lower corner, a hallway was in the middle and a kitchen space to the right. Two figures was detectable, making themselves comfortable on the sofa. One was taller than the other, featuring blond short hair, and the other, a young woman with beautiful auburn hair.

Petyr witnessed the scene play out. The two of them talked, as they often did, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying, and possibly for the 20th time that week he cursed himself for not thinking of that, for not having any sound installed. He hadn’t thought it necessary back then, it was after all only to make sure that he would be able to see what everyone was doing. If someone went in he would be able to tell, if someone tried to go upstairs, he would know.

He stared at their mouths, trying to see if he could make out any words but it was useless. Why hadn’t he learned lip reading, after all these years in a business like his? Where was Armeca when you needed her? But he would never be able to ask her, revealing that he had cameras in his own house? The news would spread, and they would definitely be more cautious after that. Although, they were stupid if the idea had never crossed their minds before knowing what kind of man he was.

Petyr placed the window in a corner of his screen as he continued looking through the files on the other side.

But the scenes playing out caught his attention again, and he was not able to keep reading, searching for the hidden messages between the lines as the two figures got closer together, the TV in front of them playing out another performance, and even though that one was filled with action and drama, it was in no interest to Petyr, not compared to what his eyes were fixed at: the people watching it.

The time was long past 7pm, and Petyr was just about to call Olyvar, reminding him of all work that had to be done, the people he needed to get in contact with, the man hidden away somewhere just like the words in the document Petyr himself had been reading this evening. But when he saw Sansa’s smile, a smile that grew and she laughed, Petyr felt himself turning to stone, he couldn’t move. There was nothing to do. Stupidly he held his phone in mid air, his eyes fixed on the screen and his index finger so close to the green button that would make the call. Petyr couldn’t call. He couldn’t make himself. Sansa’s smile kept him in place, unable to do what had to be done. Petyr liked seeing Sansa happy, he had liked their time in Ireland a lot. Seeing her laugh made him feel a better person. As if there was hope in the world for him. After all the misery and devastation he had put people through, and everything he still planned on setting in motion.

He couldn’t call, if he did, he would be the reason that smile was wiped away from her dazzling face. He couldn’t do that, he just couldn’t.

Feeling at loss he scanned through the documents again, still not able to concentrate, and he checked the window again. This time, there was no choice but to step in.

Sansa had fallen asleep, her head resting close to Olyvar’s, and his hand was stretched out behind her, his fingers stroking her auburn locks. Those fiery locks that Petyr had held in his own two hands, the locks of Cat and Lysa and Edmure. The Tully’s hair.

Petyr got to his phone, quickly typing a short but clear message to Olyvar. He was to leave, now.

He swallowed as he saw it being _sent_ , then _delivered_ , and finally _read_ , and the man in the sofa gently patted Sansa on her shoulder, waking her. Petyr watched as they exchanged a few words, unreadable to him, and then Olyvar left and Petyr let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding in.

Sansa left just a few minutes later, disappearing from the window on Petyr’s screen that now only showed an almost empty space, with just one enormous sofa, a kitchen space on the other side, and Petyr closed his laptop with a soft thud.

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

Olyvar smiled to himself as he entered the flat with a white box in his hand, sat it aside on the kitchen island and walked to the end of the stairs.

“Sansa, you busy? Can you come down?” he shouted.

Sansa’s voice came not very long after: “be there in a minute!”

She came down the stairs as was promised.

“What’s up?”

“There’s a present for you,” he said, gesturing at the box with a thin black ribbon on top.

“Oh really?” she replied, but her eyes were already on the box, searching for something until she found it, a small card.

Olyvar snuck up beside her, looking down at the beautiful scribbles that read: _“Something I know you’ll like. // Petyr.”_

“Well, go on then?” Olyvar said, smiling encouraging although something in him hurt.

He couldn’t put his finger on it.

Sansa opened the box wearing an expression of excitement.

“Aw, he remembers,” she said almost to herself, looking inside.

_Of course he bloody did_ , Olyvar wanted to add but he didn’t.

He already knew what was inside, he had helped ordered it, and somehow this bothered him. Why did it bother him? He was the extended arms and hands of Littlefinger. What he couldn’t do, Olyvar would do. It had always been this way, so why did it bother him this time?

The lemon cake was beautiful, yellow and sparkly in a way, almost shining when Sansa took it out of the box and went to fetch a knife to cut it with. She handled it with care, as if it was something fragile and important. It was important, at least to her it was, Olyvar knew that much. Sansa had always loved them, the lemon cakes, but he had never payed attention to such details. But Littlefinger did, of course he had. Everything about this girl seemed to engulf him.

Sansa’s face told Olyvar everything he needed to know, about the pure happiness a simple cake as this was giving her, and he found himself wondering what affected her the most, the cake or the notion of Littlefinger having remembered it being her favourite.

What bothered him, himself? The fact that Littlefinger was sending her gifts, or…? Olyvar felt confused, something Sansa had started to make him feel recently. No, he didn’t want Littlefinger to send her gifts, if someone was to send Sansa gifts, he wanted to be the one to do it himself.

Sansa put the piece she had cut up on a plate, tasting it.

“Oh my God, it’s so good!” she exclaimed and headed towards the sofa.

Olyvar just smiled in return. What else could he do? He followed and sat down beside her.

“It’s really good!” she continued almost to herself, but a look of realisation hit her and she looked at him seemingly unsure for a moment, “you want to try?”

“Oh, me?” he said, as if there was someone else around that she might have talked to, “oh it’s fine, you eat it, I know how much you love them.”

“Oh, come on. Sharing is caring. Here,” she cut up a smaller piece with her spoon, took it with her fingers and stretched forward, offering it to him, to Olyvar.

“Really, uh, you want me to…?” he replied, unsure as he looked at the cake and then back at her face.

Her eyes were on him and he slowly opened his mouth, not entirely sure if this was what she meant. Olyvar closed his lips around her fingers, using his tongue to take it off her grip. It was sweet, the taste of lemon making it even more so.

He pulled back, chewing: “yeah, yeah… it’s really good,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah… uhm… yeah…”

Suddenly she seemed distant, her eyes tracing the wooden lines on the floor and Sansa stood up abruptly, pacing around the living room and then went to the kitchen, reaching for a glass. Filling it with water and swiftly swept it down in one go.

“Sansa, you okay?” Olyvar asked, not sure what she was feeling.

Had he misread her? What had he done wrong?

“Yeah… sorry… I just-” she stopped, obviously trying to steady her breathing in deep breaths, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey…” Olyvar went up, slowly approaching her, “there’s nothing to be sorry about.”  
“You must think I’m some kind of… Never mind…”

“Whatever you’re thinking of saying, that’s not it. That’s not you. Do you know how I know this? Because you’re _you_ , you’re Sansa Stark, the strongest woman in England.”

He smiled at her, trying to sound reassuring, it was true though. She was like no other woman he had ever met. She made him, feel unsure, of himself. Something that was new to him. Littlefinger made him feel all but, with him he felt like conquering the world.  
“Thank you, Olyvar. That’s really sweet of you to say…”

He walked up to her, closing the space between them by putting his arms loosely around her in an embrace.

“The strongest woman I know,” he repeated.

Sansa seemed to hesitate for a second and then put her arms around him in return, her head resting on his chest.

The hug seemed to go on forever, and Olyvar found himself not wanting to let go, as if the tide had come for them, and this was the only way of surviving.

Though the time came when he just couldn’t hold on to her any longer, there was no water, there was nothing that made hugging important. Yet he felt as it was.

Maybe he was wrong, he thought as he remembered Littlefinger’s words about attachment, maybe it’s okay to _feel_.

Olyvar _felt_ now, he felt it strongly, he didn’t know what but it was something, and he wanted to keep it close, just like he had Sansa, resting over his beating heart.

“Join me in the sofa again, will you?” he proposed in a low voice, wanting her to settle down again.

Whatever storm had risen inside her, he wanted gone and replaced by the feeling he felt himself. It was good, and she deserved to feel it too.

They moved together, Olyvar’s arm still resting on her back as he guided them back towards the sofa.

“I am not the strongest woman in England,” Sansa countered, a shy laugh escaping her.

“What makes you say that? You’ve experienced more than what most people have in a lifetime, and you’re still here, still fighting?” Olyvar smiled at her gently, stroking her arm, looking into her eyes.

Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one, not like the tension that always radiated from Littlefinger. Sansa was sweet, and kind, and it made him feel at ease in ways he didn’t know he could feel. Olyvar looked at her, her blue eyes and her beautiful mouth. A temptation. He could resist it, but he didn’t want to. Why didn’t he want to? Did it matter?

Olyvar leaned in, his eyes fixated on her lips.

They were close, breathing in the other’s consumed air, his lips just about to touch hers, and Sansa pulled away. He felt it like a stab, right into the heart Littlefinger had worked so hard to get rid off. He could almost hear his words spitting at him, _you never learn_.

“What are you doing?”

Olyvar looked down, shame filling him up.

“Shit, Sansa, I just thought…” he smiled nervously, “God I’m so sorry, I must have-, I, shit, I’m sorry, I should never have done that.”

“Olyvar, no, it’s ok. I’m sorry too. I didn’t know that’s how you felt about me? I’m sorry if I gave you that impression?”

Even though it was not what he wanted to hear, Sansa’s words were kind, but they made him feel stupid. He wasn’t stupid, was he? Littlefinger didn’t think him stupid.

“No need to be sorry, Sansa, it’s my bad, I jumped into faulty conclusions on my own, I’m sorry,” he continued as he shuffled backwards to the backrest of the sofa, and Sansa moved too, as if creating extra space for him. He didn’t know if it was reassuring or if it made him feel even more stupid.  
“Olyvar… hey…” hesitantly she reached for his hands, squeezing them, “it’s _okay_. You told me I’m the strongest woman, you know, well I am thanks to people like you, and Ros, and Daisy and Armeca, and Petyr, and Brienne. People that help me, protect me, encourage me to keep going. It’s people like you who give me strength,” Sansa paused, her eyes searching for his. “I just happen to be really attractive…” she laughed at herself.

She was really trying hard, wasn’t she? Trying to break the tension between them with her stunning laughter. Going for the jokes he himself always turned to.

“It’s okay really,” Sansa paused again, “I was wondering if you could help me with something? Ros and I have been analysing my nightmares and what might be the factor that triggers them. We realised the only time I didn’t suffer from them was the night Petyr stayed with me? Like, next to me? Not really next to me, just… there. Somehow my mind understands that it’s not going to be alone and ‘relaxes’ in a way? I think? What I’m trying to say is, would you stay the night? It’s been days I haven’t really slept and it’s becoming weary…”

Olyvar felt put off, he had just tried to kiss her, showing her feelings he was not supposed to feel. That he shouldn’t be able to feel. Sexual attraction was one thing, but this had been different, and he had been rejected. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Even after this, Sansa’s kind nature was ever so present. And of course he would do that, she was asking, and he couldn’t say no. How could he ever deny her that?

“Of course, yeah, I’d like to do that, I mean, I’d like to help you, if possible.”

 

* * *

**SANSA**

‘It’s wrong’. That was all she could think of while she checked her wardrobe. Sansa was still in her shower towel, her hair dripping wet on the soft rug that covered her walking closet’s floor. She was searching for something that looked good and… convincing? After all, that was what she was about to try to achieve with Olyvar. It had been 10 days since Petyr left - to do God knows what - but even more had passed since she was last seen in public, the day her house burnt down. ‘One thing is to ask him to stay with you at night, so you can sleep, but _this_ is different’.

The news she heard of Cersei and her party being on the lead in the polls had unsettled her greatly. Sansa needed to go to her office. She needed to study the strategies that would help her Party close the gap between them and the Lannisters. The danger was there, Ramsay was after her, she had a feeling Cersei was as well, but what was she to do? Stay underground and let them win? That’s what Petyr wanted but Sansa didn’t. Ros insisted it was better to wait for them to make a mistake but then, what if they didn’t? They were ahead of her and all Sansa was allowed to do was sit back, read books and watch television.

Well, she was fed up. At this point, she was ready to risk it all for the good of her people.

Even if she had known what was going to happen later in the evening, the panic and the sweat, the feeling of not getting out of it alive, the look of disappointment Petyr was going to cast at her and the _words_ he was going to say to her... she would still have done it.

Sansa chose the black dress. It was a loose long linen dress, with an open v-neck. Before putting her master plan into action, she took her time drying her hair, an auburn colour that would attract any person’s eye. She opted for pastel colors as a final touch to her makeup.

When she stepped through her bedroom’s door she felt powerful, unstoppable, a feeling that was welcomed and embraced, since she hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

 

Her high heels reaching the bottom floor let Olyvar know she was just a few feets away from him. With a quick motion he let his eyes rest upon her. Sansa’s arms were drawn wide open and made a swirl.

“Well, how do I look?”

Olyvar stared at her, shifting his eyes from head to toe.

“Beautiful as ever?” he gave her one of those smiles that had started to become so familiar.

“Thank you. I was just wondering if you’d like to be my date tonight?”

Olyvar furrowed his eyebrows, but his smile never leaving his face.

“However lovely that sounds, you know you can’t leave right?”

Sansa stared at him calmly, ‘here we go, as expected, just breath in and talk, share your points with him and hope for the best’. And with that thought, she began.

“I know. Listen, I know you’ve got orders. But I need your help. You’re the only one who can help me. My Party needs me. I need to see them, tell them I’m ok, point them in the right direction,” Sansa paused, studying his face trying to tell whether she was achieving what she wanted or not.

When she couldn’t find anything suspicious in his look, she continued: “we are losing, and if we don’t do something about it we are going to leave this country in the hands of Cersei,” she stopped.

You need your pauses when being a politician. To have an effect on people, make the idea sink in slowly.

“I need to see them. I need to see Brienne, tell her I’m ok. She’s been a professional for years, there’s no risk on her slipping information. She’s been taking care of me… I’m like a daughter to her… and Petyr cut that bond between out of the blue”.

When she stopped and saw Olyvar’s lack of answer - seriously, what was it with Petyr’s team and just _staring_ , first Ros, now him - she knew she had to use her last resource. The absolute truth.

“I’m not asking for your permission, because either way I will find a way to go see them,” she noticed Olyvar’s body shifted slightly, “I just thought I’d ask for your help first. Will you help me?”

Olyvar looked at her, considering.

“I said I’d help you before, didn’t I?”

Sansa smiled.

“Wow… really? I was going to try to convince you by asking you to have a drink with me later on.”

“No need, _my lady_ , tell me when you’re ready and we’ll leave,” Olyvar replied, an unreadable expression on his face but Sansa was content, it didn’t matter, she would get where she wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part of Team Baelish Sweet Life Drama part for the moment, you'll get more action in the next chapter, and then we're back to drama and angst and feels and character development (loads of hurt/comfort to come). We'll be focussing on the plot in the next chapter so personally I'm very excited about that.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let us know your thoughts on the story so far! It's really encouraging for us to receive comments, as ever, all kudos and bookmarks are greatly appreciated and it honestly means the world to us! Thanks for sticking with us for so long, and hello to any new readers!  
> The one writing as Petyr wrote Olyvar this time as well.


	9. The little bird has a song to sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update came way later than we expected, hope you're still with us and haven't forgotten about the fic! Here's chapter 9, finally!

_Chapter 9:_   **THE LITTLE BIRD HAS A SONG TO SING.**

 

* * *

 

**PETYR**

“You’re sure about this?”

The voice was calm, as smooth as always but Petyr didn’t reply, he just walked past the man, opened the door with the code and went inside with confident steps. Large mirrors were facing him where he knew the man he had walked past was still watching.

The girl sat on the floor beside the bed, staring out at what seemed to Petyr to be nothing in particular, but when he was standing in front of her she raised her head, looking straight into his eyes. Not fearing. What a pity. Fear is what keeps us in check, surely she must know that? Or had he misjudged her character? No, this was what she was like. This was the nature of Arya Stark.

“A girl needs a name,” she said, her expression blank.

“I see you’ve been informed of your assignment already?”

“As if you were not the one who gave it to me.”

He smirked in reply, somewhat proud of having acquired this creature. The Stark’s blood definitely run through her veins, but she was cleverer than them. She didn’t care about morals or ethics like the Starks, but she definitely wasn’t fair like the Tullys. She was her own species in a way, something Petyr admired. He could relate to that. The outsider, an oddity. Hadn’t he too been just that? An outcast of his own dying family, a strange boy not able to fully fit in - in the loving family of the Tullys?

“You’re clever,” he noted.

“They say you are too, but I reckon you’re just a selfish jerk.”

“A selfish jerk who came from nothing and now has the entire world in his pockets.”

The girl gave him another look, staring up at him from under her thick eyebrows.

“Why should I help you?”

“I’ve heard you’re the girl with a list.”

Arya shifted.

“People tell you all sorts of lies. They can be really fascinating, it’s amazing for storytelling, and great when wanting to scare little kids when they’re in your way, but they’re just that, lies, rumours.”  
“Oh, people lie all the time, but rumours, no, they’re often born out of truths, they might be modified, but there is often something to it, something that is just right. And I know I’m not wrong. Arya.”   
“Littlefinger.”

How could she know? Had they told her? Who had she heard this from? He could just tell her it was all lies, all rumours - but that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She was testing him, and she was pretty good.

“You won’t be doing it for _me_ , you’ll be doing it for yourself. I know this is one of your top priorities right now, but it’s one you’ve not been able to attain-”   
“Not yet.”   
“So you might find yourself saying for the next 10 years, if you’re unlucky, maybe even for your entire lifetime. Cersei won’t let you to come close enough for you to even point a finger at her.”

“I’m good.”

“Oh, I know you are, that’s why you’re here. But you’re not able to use your abilities without my help. You need me. As much as you don’t like to admit it, you know it’s true.”

They all did, didn't they? Need him. Could anyone ever do anything without his help?

But it wasn’t bothersome, the conversation they were having. This was what he liked, having to play people who were much capable themselves, people who were intelligent. It meant he had to put a lot more thought into it. This was what Petyr enjoyed, the risk, the cleverness of it all.

Arya sat silently, studying him, considering. He knew it was all for show, she had already thought this through before he had entered the room, just as he had himself. These were no news to her, she knew the truth, and what they were proposing was something she just couldn’t resist agreeing to.

“I’m not helping you.”

“Never said you would, I’ll be the one helping you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m in.”

***  
“You’re sure we need the brother?”

“We’ve gone through this before.”  
“Of course we need the brother, family should stick together,” Margaery Tyrell sounded sure of herself.

Wasn’t it typical that those words were coming from her; the Tyrells always conspiring together. She and Petyr exchanged a look before they both turned their heads to the man with a voice as smooth as his head.

Could he foresee something Margaery wasn’t able to? Varys knew Petyr better than anyone, but also not more than the rest of the people in the room. He could see past his mask in ways no one else had ever done before. It was a his strength, and his weakness. What Varys saw underneath was even worse than the front Petyr kept to everyone else. He believed Petyr to be rotten to the very core. If someone were to say that Petyr was the most dangerous man in the world it would be him.

“But you already got people on her?”

“I do.”

“You must have people who could-”

“I assure you, we promised we would see through with this.”

“And since when do you keep any promises?”

Petyr looked Varys in the eyes, smirked at him without letting it say anything. Let him believe whatever he wanted, he would always distrust the man called Mr. Baelish.

The days all played out in a similar manner, by the days they seemed closer to locate the boy, and throughout the time he heard updates from Ros, planning and deciding who was best fitted to infiltrate the Prime Minister’s network even further. Varys being suspicious around Petyr, and Margaery charming everyone with her calm front. She was much alike Petyr in that sense, they were not all what they seemed. Although the Tyrells had a way of being that Petyr lacked, they showed compassion, empathy with others and their people. Was that why they came to power with such ease? While Petyr had fought through manipulation and hiding of his true self, to create the cold front with no true friends, only the fake masks of people enjoying his cleverness, people being suspicious of him or fearing him in secret? The Tyrells were surrounded by people who loved them, and no, that wasn’t just a front, it wouldn’t crumble beneath them, the people did appreciate their work. Most people didn’t even know Petyr existed in the first place, just a shadow at the far back, working his way up without anyone noticing.

The group had worked notoriously hard on getting it all working, finding Arya was difficult enough, but the boy. It was as though he had gone underground, disappeared from the face of the earth - but Petyr was sure he wasn’t neither gone nor dead. The boy was still out there, all they had to do was find him. They had manage to pull the girl out from Ireland, and he had been surprised to see that she had settle down close to his own childhood home. Was that why she had turned clever?

The week proceeded with planning of a schedule and how the collaboration with Arya should work, who should play what part in the game, whilst the boy remained in the shadows. They really needed him, just the notion of how difficult it was to find him was further proof of how very needed he was. He would be the crown to their masterpiece. Petyr was sure.

 

* * *

**BRIENNE**

Brienne was on her computer. A bottle of whiskey, opened, half filled, rested next to it. She never really liked to drink, but it became a habit after she lost her job. For a security personnel it’s hard to keep your credit clean when your client goes missing. In a matter of days, Brienne lost everything that mattered to her. And it wasn’t just her job, it was Sansa.

When the Stark family began in politics, Ned and Catelyn came to the company she was working for, asking for their protection, a safeguarding that became a priority after several anonymous threats were delivered to them. So, Brienne - among her other colleagues - were to face those threats. Unfortunately, their enemy was bigger than them, and found a way to breach their security personnel to end the life of it’s main figure. Brienne had her theories on who might have been responsible, and it always ended up being one possible person, one person capable of lying, killing and betraying to get to the top... Cersei Lannister.

Ned Stark’s death changed it all. The rules of the game turned for everybody. An assassination, so well planned that police were still looking for suspects up to this day. It was the last convention before election day and he was delivering his speech as gracefully as ever. He was going to win, there was no doubt about that. People loved him and his lead on the polls reflected that. Ned Stark was going to become for the first time in his life the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom,  under the promise of leading a government with transparency, lower cuts and bigger public investments, improving education and healthcare. Those promises weren’t new for the public, but a message delivered by two different people was most likely to have a different effect on the population. There was always the hesitation whether a certain candidate was eventually going to take off the mask, and show that his real intentions were not so different than the sour loser who wasn’t elected. What do they always say? “Why yes, the problem is bigger than I thought, I can see that now… I’m afraid I won’t be able to fulfill my promises”. But Ned was different, Brienne knew it. She felt it. Being part of the Starks personal security team was not only a job, but a duty as a citizen. She wanted Ned to represent her country, to take care of it and its people. Ned Stark was everything they needed in these times of selfishness and materialism.

It all happened pretty fast, was all Brienne could remember. That night the security routine was analyzed and studied. All possible escapes for all possible outcomes. Brienne was to stay with Catelyn, overwatching her who at the same time would be overwatching her husband from behind the stage. Ned finished his speech dashingly as he always did. When the confetti began falling and the music started playing Catelyn was to join him, for all the smiling and waving. Just when she was going to step out, Brienne received the order. Catelyn Stark was to put to safety. When Tarth got the message she immediately knew something bad had happened, and without asking further questions, did as she was told.

She grabbed Catelyn in a swift move, covering her with her own body as she moved past the staff off-stage. _Put Catelyn to safety_ . Brienne repeated those words in her mind and under her breath.  
She didn’t hear Catelyn shouting behind her, asking her what was happening, _where was Ned_ , and where were they going. She did hear the screams from the public. It took several seconds between her supervisor's order to come to her through all those shrieks of absolute terror. They were already in the parking lot when the noise of a stampede could be heard - and felt. You never forget a sound like that. The sound of thousands of people running for their lives.

Catelyn was crying now. Ned’s wife was not stupid, she knew something bad had happened. And the absence of her husband was a nerve wracking corroboration of her fear.  
When they reached the car, Brienne ordered her driver to take the emergency route. She could hear Catelyn’s demands now, asking to please turn the car around. But they couldn’t, Brienne knew it, and somewhere deep inside Catelyn, she knew it too.

It was when they got to the Stark’s household when the news started to pour in. Sansa was there, barely 14 years old, she stood in the living room watching the television with her phone in one hand. The news channel was on and the images were repeating themselves. Ned smiling, waving at the crowd, a slight change in his furrow, looking down at his chest and a ring of blood staining his shirt, getting bigger and bigger as Ned grabbed his chest with a painful expression.

At first the news were calling it a heart attack, but when the images started coming in confirming that it was not a natural death, they called it a terrorist attack, executed by a sniper, most probably. The police were looking for suspects.

Brienne brought Catelyn to the house, where the help attended her. She was sobbing. Brienne looked at the living room, all of Ned’s children there, watching their father die, repetitive times, and from all different angles. Sansa’s attention turned to Brienne. There was so much pain and sadness in those eyes. Brienne wanted to go to her, tell her how sorry she was for what happened to her father, how responsible she felt as part of her security personnel and how they were going to mend the wrongs that were done to her family tonight. But those words wouldn’t matter now. Maybe later on, but not today.

Catelyn Stark never overcame Ned’s death. It was all downhill after that. First the drinking, then the pills. Brienne watched all of this without being able to intervene. That task was reserved for Sansa, being the last of the Stark children to stay with her mother. Robb, Jon, Arya, Bran and Rickon, all left London to different destinations, after their father’s death. Sansa preferred to stay behind. She couldn’t leave her mother alone, not with all her issues. Brienne admired the oldest of Ned and Catelyn’s daughter. For Sansa there was never a doubt in her mind of what was the correct thing to do. Her brothers and sister called her out and said “staying behind and doing nothing” wasn’t the best way to face her father’s death. What the Starks children were unaware of was that “doing nothing” sometimes was the wisest thing, but often the hardest one too.

Do nothing. Wasn’t that what her boss said when they found Catelyn’s body hanging? She did nothing to prevent it, but then again, she couldn’t be Catelyn’s shadow. She really wanted to, but her boss wouldn’t allow that. Brienne remembered when she asked her to take the night off on that terrible night. Of course, she didn’t. She left the matriarch in the upper level to her business while she stayed in the car, just in case she needed her later. Her body was found several hours later by one of the assistants. Brienne almost lost her job after that, but Sansa intervened. She asked her boss for her relocation, as her personal guard. Brienne took the job enthusiastically, knowing there were more things to make up to her apart from thanking her for not getting her fired.

And now Sansa was gone too. Somewhere in London, under the care of Petyr Baelish. Brienne never liked that man, but admired that man’s connections. He somehow accomplished to hide Sansa well enough that nobody was being able to find her, not even the people who wanted her dead. She assumed it was the only good news.

Brienne stared at the bottle. She saw her reflection on it. This wasn’t who she was, nor what she always believed she was. Falling into this sort of addictions was not the way to go. She needed to get rid of it. The tall woman stood up, grabbed the bottle with an aggressive move and went to the kitchen. She approached the sink and emptied it. The feeling of satisfaction didn’t come until the last drop hit the stainless steel.

The phone started ringing and Brienne glared at it from afar. Throwing the bottle in the bin she went to pick up to whoever had interrupted her call for sobriety moment.

“Tarth,” Brienne answered.

“Brienne, in about an hour, a driver will be waiting downstairs to pick you up,” a man’s voice said.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” as far as she knew, this could be anyone.

“We’re... the good guys,” the voice waited for Brienne’s reply.

At the lack of it whoever it was on the other line knew Brienne wasn’t buying it.

“I wouldn’t have this phone number if I wasn’t working for Mr. Baelish. One hour. Downstairs,” but he decided to give her more, “the little bird has a song to sing,” and the line went dead.

And with that last piece of information Brienne immediately knew who it was.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr woke with the sun warming his back. He stretched out his arms like a cat and turned in the bed, reached out to the night table and moved his laptop onto the bed, placing it right beside him as he turned it on and logged in. He pressed the gadget again, as had become a habit of his, always checking each morning, each evening. The window popped up showing the large open space, the tall man was pacing around the kitchen again. He seemed stressed in a way Petyr hadn’t seen him for a very long time. Okay, something was up. Was it still the reaction from a few nights ago, when he had stayed over in spite of Littlefinger’s clear and simple rules? Petyr pursed his lips, clicked _next_ and the window showed another room. This one was smaller, but still extraordinary large for being a bedroom. The form of a woman was standing in the middle, she was standing with her back towards the camera. The skin was pale, porcelain like, it looked soft, smooth with only a few freckles and moles spread out in various patterns down her body. She was facing a mirror. Petyr couldn’t really distinguish any facial expressions but her body language told him she was nervous as well, and yet she stood tall in front of the cheval glass. She shifted her weight to the other foot, considering, bending down to pick up a piece of clothing, but Petyr only stared at the figure of her body. The art that was shown on his screen, and he could feel himself grow underneath the covers. A part of him wanted to shut it down, this wasn’t how he had imagined it. In his mind he had seen her in front of him, and not a mirror, _facing him_ , looking into his eyes and scanning his body. This was different, he was so, so very close to her, and yet she was further away than he had felt her being during this whole time. He wanted her here, wanted to feel her soft skin underneath his fingers as he traced the patterns on her body, following it down her spine to her bottom, drawing the outlines of her shape as he would continue up her front, dipping down after having followed up her hip bone and then stroking the silky skin of her abdomen, stopping to cup her breasts, just to feel the weight of them in his hands, all his.

Petyr swallowed, his member making itself more and more evident. It had been a long time since he had given in to bodily needs, he hadn’t touched himself to the thought of another since… Petyr licked his lips, trying with whatever saliva he might still have left. The only times he masturbated nowadays was after the thrill of a chase, the sweet taste of finally getting what he wanted, when his cunning or intelligence proved itself exceptional, it was at times like these he would marvel at himself, over the things he could achieve and the things planned ahead. The times when he’d frantically stroked himself into oblivion without a reason behind other than hormones were times when Littlefinger was still just a name to mock his insignificance, and those times were long gone. Petyr Baelish had the whole world in his pocket, he was all but insignificant.

But things had changed when Catelyn’s daughter had entered his life. She turned things around in ways he hadn’t imagined possible, after all those years of building up his walls, making them stronger and impossible to break down. Lately he had felt himself harden by the thought of her, a need to touch himself and imagine her close. But Littlefinger resisted, the idea of giving in only because of a normal girl was absurd. She was beautiful, but so were they all. She was Catelyn’s daughter, but she was not Cat. She was very much herself. A combination of the Starks and the auburn haired Tullys. A combination Petyr never thought he would find himself attracted to - and yet here he was, his hand almost unconsciously travelling down his stomach. It was only when his hand was already on him, grabbing hard, that he forced himself to stop, realising what was happening he released his grip around his already throbbing cock and opened his eyes, swallowing hard.

Sansa was changing clothes, trying on different things but settled for a dress in simple black. But something about it caught Petyr’s interest and it wasn’t the cut of the dress but the fact that she _was_ wearing it. Why would Sansa wear a dress like that? There were no reason for her to dress up like this, she had been advised and should know better than to try leaving the flat. She knew better than that, and Olyvar would notify him instantly when and if it happened.

When he could see her exiting her room and going down the stairs, the next frame showed her in the kitchen.

The two of them were talking, just as ever, but Petyr noticed the look on Olyvar’s face. He recognised that look. The desire, the lust, the amazement, the adoration, the… _no_. Petyr swallowed. Enough of all that. Back to reality. What was about to happen? Could she have dressed up for Olyvar? Why would they do that? Sure, they had been close lately but no, this was for something else. He could tell.

Petyr studied them as they spoke their inaudible words and he stared with a blank expression on his face as he could do nothing but watch as Olyvar left through the door together with Sansa. They left, without saying a word to _him_. Why?

If not for the hidden cameras Petyr would never have known.

This was why it was crucial to have thought of everything beforehand, why the wars had to be fought and conquered in this mind, playing out every scenario possible, so that he would always be ready for whatever was in the making.

He took out his phone quickly. Typing went fast, writing the codename he had wished to never use: “squire”.

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

Olyvar knew this was wrong, and definitely against the rules, but he had promised to help her if she wanted him to. But was that really what it was about, him listening to what she wanted - or rather he wanted this? Olyvar wanted to be of help after what had happened the other day. And anyway, since when did he follow any rules other than Littlefinger’s?

He inhaled slowly as he drove around the corner to find a spot to park the car.  
The meeting took place in Regent’s Park. It wasn’t so much the fear of seeing Sansa walk out of the car and not being able to follow her, than the fact that he had no knowledge of what was to happen. Olyvar felt as though he was on autopilot, and he had no way of stopping it all from happening. Somehow he wanted this to happen, he wanted to show his good manners, being transparent for once, no traps, no hidden microphones, he wanted to seem like he cared about her - because maybe, maybe he truly did care about her. The thought didn’t scare him as much as it should have. Why? Maybe because he compared this, much like everything else, to the way Littlefinger acted himself. That man had let this girl into his life and without further adieu they now all had to take care of her too. Look after her. Olyvar didn’t mind that, he wanted to be more to her than just a security guard of some sort. Was this what he was proving to her right now? Was this more? Was this was friendship was like? Doing things for others? Risking things for others?

He watched as Sansa approached the tall woman with blond hair.  
Guilt was spreading like a sickness in his body, crawling like spiders all over him. This was more risky than he had thought. Had he put any thought into it at all? He wondered now, because it didn’t seem like it.  
The women seemed calm though, discussing with a relaxed manner but neither looked at the other. He noticed the Tarth woman turning her head to Sansa but Sansa didn’t meet her eyes, but kept hers steadily in front of herself.  
That was when he noticed them, the men, all in black slowly approaching them.

After that everything happened rather quickly, Olyvar wasn’t sure if he jumped out of the car to scream at Sansa or if she or Tarth noticed even before he did himself. However the car was speeding, and Olyvar drove up to Sansa and the two of them got into the car with him as he watched the men do the same barely a second away.

The buildings seemed to flash before his eyes, green lights, red lights - who cared? There wasn’t enough time. Olyvar pressed his foot down hard, he could hear the complaints of the other vehicles around him, but none of that mattered, they just had to get out of there. Vaguely he could hear the taller woman checking on Sansa, but it didn’t last long until she was screaming in his ears just like the other motors surrounding them. _Left! No, right! Fuck, you have to turn - no! Now!_ At first he felt as though the machine was actually protesting against him, howling and roaring underneath him as he turned and snatched them in different directions.

The car behind them looked very much like the one they sat in themselves, it looked much like a shadow of the Aston Martin Olyvar was trying his best to drive as fast as he possibly could, almost hitting speed limit in the middle of a city busy with life and shopping and tourism. He was surprised at his quick reflexes, being inches from taking down an older lady out on her daily stroll.

“It’s him,” he heard Brienne Tarth stating, it was a simple sentence, but they all knew exactly who she meant.

On the right side of the driver was a man with dark hair, eyes like ice that glared with a fiery thrill. It was the look of a madman, a predator watching its prey. Playing until the bitter end.  
Ramsay didn’t do much, he didn’t seem to scream at the other men in the car, he didn’t seem to notice anything but the jet black Aston Martin.  
Littlefinger would be furious with him, knowing about the way Olyvar made it whine and rumble. He had never been sure if Littlefinger had ever been interested in the car in the first place but the car was important, a crucial accessory to play the games of the rich and dangerous.

The surrounding turned dark, almost black if not for the tiny orange lights that flashed by in what looked more like a thin line than anything else.  
They were in a tunnel, zigzagging around the cars to get past them, Ramsay and his men following. This was bad, really fucking bad. This was why it was crucial to always be on one’s feet, to always think of everything before it happened. To know what to do if a scenario like this layed itself bear beneath them. It was all Littlefinger’s words, wasn’t it?

The shot was quiet, but unmistakably so from a gun. Olyvar could see the blond head of the Tarth woman aiming back at the car speeding just a moment after, having been able to come right up behind them after fighting the pattern of driving cars going in lower speeds at all sides. The shot was precise, and the car behind them rebounded slightly as Ramsay noticed the driver falling slack against the wheel. She was good, really good. In class with Olyvar himself, maybe they could have use of her.

“Got him,” Brienne Tarth stated, but with no answer.

Olyvar’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead, trying his best not to knock into anything too hard, to, if possible, making it easier for her to aim again.  
He glimpsed Ramsay saying something, taking over the wheel above the dead body beside him. Whilst driving he pushed the door open, heaved the body out of the car, still with his eyes seemingly immovable from his target, Sansa.

“Get down!” Tarth called.

He didn’t hear the gunshot as much as he heard the window protesting. For a moment he had expecting the shattering sound of the glass breaking and scattering all around them, but it never came. And Olyvar was relieved to remember the bulletproof glass Littlefinger had ordered for the car. But another thump appeared, giving no time for further thoughts. And another after that, and another. The shots came quickly now, and Olyvar hunched over the wheel, not being sure where to keep his eyes, the rear mirrors or the road in front of them. The glass wouldn’t be able to sustain much longer.  
The glass broke slowly but surely, in a similar way that Olyvar drove the car into other vehicles every now and then, scratching the surface of the black varnish onto others.

“My phone, now, in my pocket,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

His phone was handed to him, he wasn’t too sure who it was, vaguely he wanting it to be Sansa.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr for once wished that Roose was still alive and could get some control over his son, no one wanted car chases in the middle of London, putting everyone at risk. What if someone recognised Ramsay - that would look bad on the Bolx Banks. Especially gunshots.

He had called Ros and later Daisy, using one of the codenames he had never wanted to use but feared that he one day would. Today just proved his hypothesis right, again. It was always rewarding to be prepared for everything. Every employee of importance had a codename. Not everyone knew about them of course, that would have left everyone suspicious and not so surprisingly at short notice everyone would be aware of their own codename. No, there had to be just a few knowing about them, and another handful knowing about some other’s. Believing that only specific people had codenames and that you happened to be one that were to know about them would not leave you to tell the others, but to keep that information to yourself, in case you could use that as an advantage one day. Everyone wants to be important, special, when in fact, they’re just like everyone else. Just a pawn in a bigger picture.

Daisy had found out that his Aston Martin was missing and after not too long she had been able to locate the car, walking through the security shield she herself had built up to make it as safe as possible.  
He was curious to see that a meeting had been set up between Sansa and Brienne. Did she not trust him?

Later when the two cars were speeding, making way too much noise and bringing too much attention to themselves, it was not difficult to catch up on them either.  
This chase was truly a mistake of Ramsay’s. Typically him, Petyr had noticed, playing around like a child with new toys. This was the difference between Ramsay Bolton and Petyr Baelish, Petyr didn’t play with toys. His game was a game of chess, and he moved every piece with precision.

Petyr was in a helicopter together with a handful of others, cars driving from all different directions possible to crowd the two speeding cars. Ramsay was a child, and a fool. Obsessed with all things new to him. Power, especially. It was plain for everyone to see, only everyone was just as foolish as Ramsay. They swallowed it all, all the talk about him, the success. But this had to end, and he would see the end of it now.

“The child’s play is over, stop the cars before any of you embarrass yourselves any further,” a voice said over speaker.

Petyr watched with intent and a played dullness as Olyvar stopped the not-so-very-black Aston Martin just below. That would be a bother, getting a new one and getting a new security shield up, installed and running, with bulletproof windows and all. Petyr sighed as he looked down at Ramsay pulling over abruptly a moment later as well.

“You don’t want this to come out to the news, I’ve blocked off all the streets in the neighbourhood,” the voice of a Lannister continued from the helicopter to the left.

They landed smoothly, Petyr kept his eyes fixed on the smug look of Ramsay Bolton until a golden haired man approached him, when the taller man opened his mouth to speak Petyr interfered before he could start: “I’ll talk to the poor people he targeted this time, you talk some sense into him, if at all possible.”

Jaime Lannister nodded and Petyr went off alone to the car a few feet away, they had to leave now, before the Lannisters realised who was in the car.

Petyr tapped the window, not surprised to see Olyvar’s distressed face when he rolled down the car window.

“Get out of my sight, quickly, and see to that Mrs Tarth comes home safely. Daisy will be helping you with the security you’re so obviously lacking.”

Petyr didn’t care to meet his eyes, he knew Olyvar looked like an ashamed puppy as he drove off with the rest of them and Petyr turned his attention back to Ramsay who was standing as smug as ever in front of his own car with blood soaking his white shirt from top to bottom, a couple of men in black behind him looking even more liberated from feelings than Petyr was himself, they looked like figures made out of stone. Surely, that must be how people saw him too?

“I won’t be covering up for you much longer, if it wasn’t for the arrangements between…” Jaime trailed off as he noticed Petyr coming up to them.

“They were on my priority list, it won’t be happening too often. But then again, there’s not much you can do about it, really?” Ramsay giggled to himself, his eyes staring wildly at the now empty spot where Petyr’s car had just recently been.

Where Sansa had just recently been.

“You know,” Ramsay continued, “you just have to try to get a leash on me, but I don’t like to be controlled, I misbehave - unlike my dogs over here,” Ramsay nodded towards the men behind him.

“Oh, we are aware,” Petyr replied, “but all dogs become obedient with the right utensil. You will obey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some action and not just drama, hope you enjoyed the car chase! Petyr is fully back and I'm personally happy to see Brienne back in the game again, although no Sansa POV this time - but don't fear, we'll bring her back full force in next chapter. There's so much going on now, and there's a lot coming up next. For the shippers, the wait is soon over, stay tuned. Hope you liked this chapter and please let us know what you think! Thank you for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks, we're so grateful to you all for sticking with us!  
> Olyvar and Petyr are written by the same person whilst Brienne was written by the person usually writing as Sansa.


	10. Is it too late

_Chapter 10:_   **IS IT TOO LATE**.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Silence reigned in the car as they headed back to the flat. Olyvar looked like knew he was in big trouble. Sansa was looking out of the window, she hadn’t said anything after their “special” encounter with Ramsay Bolton.

It was when they finally arrived home that Olyvar broke the silence.

“I’m sorry about... that, are you alright?”

Sansa went to the kitchen for a glass of water without saying a word. She heard him alright, but she felt as though she couldn’t speak, her mouth as dry as a desert.

“I mean, of course you’re not. I’m sorry,” Olyvar continued, hands in his pockets, pacing around the room.

He finally stopped for a moment and looked in Sansa’s direction, “can I be of any help?”

“I just need a moment ok?” was all she managed to say.

Sansa took the glass of water with her and sat down on the sofa, staring at nothing.

“Yes, yeah, of course, of course”, he licked his lips nervously as he followed her with his eyes, slowly moving to the other side of the sofa and placed himself with a bit of a distance from her but still not too far away.

Sansa’s mind was replaying everything that had happened just hours ago. Why wouldn’t her mind stop thinking about it?

“I could feel him watching me,” Sansa’s words came out, and she realised she didn’t really wanted to share that piece of information, and least of all with Olyvar.

Before she could stop herself, her mouth carried on, “I could feel him concentrated on me, almost as though we were in the same room again.”

Olyvar looked up at Sansa, nervously clutching his own hand, “I’m so sorry, Sansa, I should have checked the security of your location a lot better, I mean, I should have seen to… there are lots of things I should have done. God, I’m sorry, Sansa,” Olyvara seemed to not really know whether he should look at her or his own hands, his eyes flickering between the two.

She heard Olyvar’s words, and by the concern in his words she believed him to be honest.

”It’s not your fault Olyvar,” the way his hands were moving was all Sansa was looking at, “it’s my fault. I put us out there, I’m to blame, not you.”

It was true. She knew it was true. No matter what he would try to tell her, the blame relied on one, and one person only. Herself.

“Oh, definitely not, it’s my responsibility, that’s one of the more important reasons to why I’ve been around, remember? I was put on this job, to... protect you…” he moved a bit closer to her, slightly hesitantly.

“Olyvar…”

Sansa wanted to tell him that whatever he had in mind, it was all very kind and sweet, but nothing would change the fact that she was to blame. He had done more than enough already and Sansa was sorry to see him being dragged into her problems - and then she felt the kiss. Olyvar was leaning in, his hands on her face and his mouth gently sucking her lips.

It took her a couple of seconds for her busy mind to realise what was _actually_ happening. Seconds that seemed to last minutes. Minutes in which the one and only Petyr Baelish opened the door and stopped in the hallway. That man did always know how to make an entrance.

The sound of the door opening and the simple idea of Petyr watching the whole scene made Sansa snap out of it and quickly ordered her mind to break from Olyvar’s sweet kiss.

Olyvar looked at Sansa with seemingly drunken but sad eyes, noticing Petyr.

“And I failed…” Olyvar’s words were whispered so low that only Sansa could hear, his voice was so quiet she wondered whether he had said them to himself or to her.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

The ride home was tense. Everything inside Petyr seemed to bottle with heat like it hadn’t in several years.

He pressed in the familiar codes and turned the keys to the flat, Ros following promptly.

The sight that welcomed him was not at all what he had expected. Olyvar’s hands were on Sansa’s cheeks, caressing her, his _mouth_ on hers.

This wasn’t right. It was one thing touching her hair, but this? This was taking it too far. This night wasn’t about Olyvar and Sansa, _Petyr_ had almost lost her to the Boltons again.

He looked at her soft pink lips, it seemed almost like yesterday.

 

Upon arriving a few days ago Lysa had wanted them to marry almost on the spot, not even wanting to wait for him to get properly dressed for the occasion, telling him that he always looked stunning wherever he went and Petyr had just smiled at her in response, feeling flattered that someone could appreciate the time he put into his appearance and at the same time displeased by it. They had thrown a party, some days later, Lysa having wanted to spend the evening and the wedding night with Petyr alone even though, as she had reminded him, “we’ve had our wedding night many years ago, don’t you remember?” and he did remember, oh how he remembered.

The music was loud in his ears, but also comforting, surrounding him. Voices laughing and talking. It was the sound of a party, a large party. His wedding party.

As he listened to the person beside him rambling on about whatever it was he was talking about, Petyr saw Sansa walk towards the table with drinks for the third time seeming like she was mumbling words to no one in particular. As she was pouring herself another drink he excused himself from the person beside him, moving smoothly through the crowd of people to get to Sansa.  
“You alright?” he asked her when standing a few feet away.

She seemed surprised, but he couldn’t tell why. It was not as if she was surprised to see him at his own wedding party?

"I am alright. Why shouldn't I be? What makes you think I'm not?”

“Just... the amount of drinks you’ve had, you usually never drink,” he reminded her with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"I don’t usually... okay, since when do you think that I don’t drink. I drink. I drink a lot. I happen to love the taste."

“Sansa, you hate drinking, I think that’s enough,” he said closing the space between them and putting his hand on hers, stopping her from putting the glas to her lips again.  
Sansa glared back at him, seeming to radiate pure hate all around her.  
"Ugh," she reluctantly gave him her drink and walked away.  
Petyr set the drink aside, checking the place and the people before following her. The hair that used to be so distinguishable was now hard to make out in the crowd of people. Black locks danced away into one of large rooms at the far end of one of the corridors. Petyr followed with slow collected steps, making it look like he wasn’t really heading towards anywhere, just simply stolling without a goal in case someone was looking. He went into the room to the right, moving smoothly - similar to a cat - through the half closed door. The room seemed to currently be serving as a place to store all the extra tables and chairs that usually filled up the space in the other rooms. He found Sansa sitting on the ledge by the window, seeming to be staring out at nothing in particular. He stopped just in front of the door, just standing there. For a moment they were quiet and the only sound was the cheering of the people, the music from the party in a world so close to theirs.

“What happened?” he asked, finally breaking the silence but Sansa didn’t reply, “was it something they said? Some people are not worth listening to, especially not those who doesn’t sit upon truth.”

Petyr took a few small steps closer to her, now standing in the middle of the room.

"Easy for you to say," she mumbled, almost to herself, her voice quiet, not fitting the sound coming from the hallway.

When he came closer he noticed tears falling down her cheeks.

“What makes you say that?” Petyr asked with a low voice, matching hers.

He could hear his Irish accent making itself known, it had always been that way, him revealing parts of himself depending on what fitted, whatever would work the better. Ever since they had arrived he had fallen back to his old sounds and habits, maybe it was to make Lysa be more comfortable around him, open herself up to him - literally, maybe it was him allowing himself to be his younger version again, maybe, just maybe, he felt like showing his true self to this child in front of him.

“Tune them out. They’re just background noise, they don’t matter.”

"Don’t matter? Don't matter?! Half of the country is here and all those girls do is talk about Joffrey! I have to stand there and listen to... what they have to say about him, _about me_!"

“He’s gone, and you’re not,” Petyr reminded her, “that’s what matters. Your life is here, not in London. Leave the past behind, it’s not worth your effort nor your time. People always talk, it’s what people do. Better tune them out before their worthless words starts defining you. You’re better than that.”

"Did you know he didn't kiss me?”

Her words came unannounced, changing the topic completely. Was this something she had been thinking of? Was this why she was upset? Was it so weird though? She was a girl, a young woman. These thoughts were only natural, and she had been drinking.

“Joffrey. He took me home. He thanked for the time we had and just when I thought he was going to kiss me he just patted my shoulder, turned around and left. How pathetic am I?" Sansa’s voice broke, and the tears came streaming down her face again.  
“You’re not pathetic, Sansa. A real gentleman would have kissed you,” he said while taking the rest of the steps needed to be able to stand with his front facing her back.

Petyr picked up a lock of hair from behind and touched it, twirling the black colour between his fingers. She could have been his daughter after all, and the black hair made the idea even more insistent, matching his, perfectly.

"I've never been kissed... did you know that?"

Silence waited for a moment and Petyr slowly slid down on the ledge beside Sansa.  
“No...” he replied, making his voice softer with the lock of her hair still around his fingers.  
Sansa continued staring out the window, and for a moment Petyr thought the alcohol had made her mind drift away, forgetting about the conversation completely, but then she spoke again, her voice barely a whisper: "would you have kissed me?"

He turned his head towards Sansa, and let the quiet be, letting the seconds tick on. He swallowed, unsure whether honesty was the right way.

Petyr thought of a memory from a time so long ago it should probably have been long forgotten, but to him it wasn’t. The memory ever so present. The girl beside him was almost a copy of the girl that had been standing beside him back then, the laughter of a young girl filling his ears. Their eyes were so alike, their cheekbones high, the shape of their face almost the very same. Yet the girl in front of him now was more beautiful than the girl that he remembered, and this one was a few years older than _she_ had been. Petyr lowered his gaze, remembering the games they used to play, the two of them - and another. They had not been alone but Petyr wanted to remember this one specifically. He had tried sticking his tongue into the girl’s mouth, but she never let him. And Littlefinger saw the possibilities flashing before his eyes for a brief moment. All that he could have got.

Sansa was so alike her mother, but with hair that looked like his own. _She could have been my daughter_ , he thought again, and without any more consideration his answer came out before he could change his mind.

“Yes”, he breathed, leaning in just a bit, but not closing the space between them, locking his eyes on hers.

Sansa finally stopped staring out the window to face Petyr, her eyes locking with his, then lowering to his mouth and without any hesitation she leant forward the few inches that were still between them. Petyr closed his eyes, pressing his lips against her soft ones and he was surprised at the urgency and desperation he felt coming from her. He reciprocated eagerly with the same urgency, overwhelmed by the fact that he was kissing the daughter of the woman he had dreamt of ever since his childhood. He put both his hands on her, wanting to feel her, wanting to have her close. One hand was now fully occupied with her hair and the other one was cupping her jaw, his fingertips resting on her neck. Sansa let out a soft moan still with her mouth on his and Petyr almost shivered at the sensation of just having her this close. Then he felt it, the wet touch of her tongue wanting to be allowed participants in this sudden exchange of needs. Petyr completely lost himself to the kiss, her tongue being sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, the faintest hint of lemon cake present. He felt desperate, his hands moving down her body and let go of her hair. For a moment he pressed their heads closer still, her tongue moving against his. The feeling of her hands on him, on his chest as they made their way down. Inexperienced fingers started to unbuckle his belt. Later he wondered if it was the tremble that caught his attention.

Petyr wanted to stay like that, it was as if this was truly all he had ever wanted, but facts he could not see past made themselves present. Her hands might be clumsy because this was new to her, but Sansa was drunk, and he wasn’t. It was all so very much alike what he himself had experienced in a time that didn’t seem that long ago. It had been a feast, much like this one and Petyr had already danced with Cat six times that evening. He had made her smile, she made him smile and nothing else seemed to matter. He had told a joke, a clever one as they often were and she laughed, sounding more beautiful than the music playing around them. Her hair swirled around her in colours of autumn as she spinned, her hand never leaving his. It must have been a sign, her choosing to dance with him and not the man she was engaged to. It had to mean something. The celebration was after all theirs and not Petyr’s and Cat’s. In a moment believing she might have thought the same as him, maybe realising it was all a mistake, knowing that Petyr was the one for her, the one who knew her, who had been there for her through all this time. He had spun her around one last time. When she came back into his arms he had embraced her, her words echoed through him, “what are you doing, Petyr?” she said giving him another one of her beautiful laughs, and it was he who had made them happen, he was the origin to that sound. Petyr had looked into her eyes and thought he had seen the same desire staring back at him. That was when he leaned forward, it wasn’t that hard, they were almost the same height, but the moment passed and before their lips brushed Cat pushed him away. She just laughed, and Petyr felt stupid. This was not the laughs he had enjoyed so much throughout the whole evening, this laugh was not because he had made a joke. He had laid his heart bare, and she laughed at him. Hurt and rejected he sat down at the table, taking drink after drink until he finally passed out. He didn’t want to be able to remember this, it pained him, and he couldn’t stand the anguish. What happened next was still almost a blur, but something he never wanted to think about. No, Petyr would never take advantage of Sansa like that. With alcohol in her system he would never know if this was what she really wanted, maybe it was all a coincidence. Him being there when she needed someone the most. But Petyr was not who she needed. Sansa wanted a charming prince with roses and love, something Baelish would never be able to give her. He had played his part, gotten what he wanted. Now it was time to be the grown up he actually was, be responsible. His need for Sansa was something he didn’t want to force on her. Reluctantly he took a step backwards, there was nothing else to be done. The belt made a sound as it slid from Sansa’s fingers. Petyr closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself, feeling as though the air had went out of him, not completely sure if it was the reminder of what had happened back when he was young and stupid, or if it was the reaction of the passion he still felt beating inside of him.

“You’re drunk, Sansa,” he let go of her shoulder, opening his eyes he saw her awkwardly crossing her arms around her waist.

“I am... a little bit,“ she admitted, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry for doing all this. You're married to my aunt. Oh my God, I'm sorry.”

For a moment he almost got stuck in the vivid memory of that red hair dancing around him from a few nights ago, her naked body waiting for him.  
“Let me worry about aunt Lysa,” he said taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, “now, you better go to bed.”

Petyr just looked at the floor beneath him. Without another word he saw her slowly disappearing from his vision - but then she stopped, abruptly. Something in her stance didn’t seem right. Petyr lifted his head to see what had made her freeze.

A lean figure was standing in the doorway, hands just hanging along her body, red dark hair flowing around her. Lysa.

Petyr knew what it looked like: Sansa’s cheeks flushed, Petyr still catching his breath, his belt undone hanging in the air. But was the reality really so different?

“I knew it! I knew it!”

Her words seemed to echo in the room as though it was quiet, as if the crowd not far away was completely silent. Petyr turned slowly, his eyes never leaving the shape of Lysa at the door. Fixing his posture and redoing his belt, Petyr made his face seem more closed off, more like himself as he tilted his head slightly, giving her one of his famous smirks.  
"Lysa, whatever you thought you saw, it's not what you think," he raised his eyebrows, trying to seem convincing.

Lysa turned, as if she was just about to storm out of the room but Petyr was quick on his feet, catching up to her before she had managed to leave, the door in front of them still barely open. He was standing with his chest almost touching her back, his head just behind her ear.  
"Lysa..." he whispered so that only she would hear, “it's nothing, this means nothing, I assure you."  
“Nothing you say? I saw _everything_. I knew she was going to be trouble. She’s no good. You know she was looking at me while she was giving you a-” she paused for a split second before continuing, “you fell for her didn’t you?”

It was just like it had always been, Lysa always seeming to know how everyone had just played with him. As if he was not able to tell this by his own, as if manipulation had not become his trademark. In a low voice, his mouth almost brushing her ear he whispered: "how can you believe such measures to be true, even after our wedding night?"

He touched her shoulder, and her body loosened a bit. She turned to face him and Petyr could see desire in her eyes.  
“Tell me I’m prettier than her,” she said softly, her eyes flicking to Sansa for a moment but Petyr’s never left hers.  
"Oh my sweet wife, don't let rotten thoughts into your head," he soothed her, moving his hand up and down her arm and she embraced him, locking her arms behind his back.

Her waist moved forward, as an invitation to let him feel her against him.  
“Tell me I’m sexier. That you want me,” she said, eyes never leaving his, “make me scream. Like during our wedding night. Make me scream so that she can hear us, so that she knows who you truly desire.”

Petyr put his mouth on hers, crushing into her. His hands cupped her face much like he had done with Sansa, but his kisses were more reckless, as if his need for Lysa was stronger, made him wild and uncontrollable. He used his tongue to open up her mouth, biting at her lips and Lysa responded with the same intensity. Her desperate moans echoing around them. She licked his lips with a disgusting passion.

Petyr opened his eyes as he could hear movement. Lysa’s were still closed, ever so urgent for him. He saw Sansa, she had been able to walk past them even though they more or less took up all the space in the doorway. She turned before leaving, looking into his eyes. Petyr had often found that he could read that girl without problem; now she looked unsure, possibly nauseous and he wondered if it was due to the alcohol or the scene in front of her. Petyr continued to kiss Lysa, hands on her body and he pressed his body flat against her’s. Making sure Lysa could feel the presence of his own persistent need, but his eyes had locked with Sansa’s, not leaving hers for a second and he felt himself harden even further.

“Take me to bed Petyr. Take me to bed and fuck me. I want your mouth on me, sucking anything you want. Show me how much you love me!”

Petyr wondered about her choice of words for a moment, not feeling particularly like he wanted anything to do with her. His eyes and thoughts had travelled back to Sansa, who turned, slowly leaving them to each other.

"Now my dear, go back to our bedroom, I'll be there in a minute and we'll be together again, soon, very soon."

He smiled at her, his hands resting on her arms and Lysa gave him one last sloppy kiss before finally letting go of him. Petyr straightened his back and his jacket. Swallowing hard as he saw Lysa walk away, joining the crowd and music which existence he seemed to have forgotten completely. He cleared his throat, and followed into the crowd, his mind busy with the idea of Lysa being ready for him in their bedroom. The people still dancing and talking, gratefully, obviously unaware.

 

Petyr swallowed at the memory as he watched Sansa push Olyvar away.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Petyr stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at them and they looked back at him.

Sansa hated the silence, but most of all, she hated that look on Petyr’s face.

“Petyr, I can explain-”, was all she had time to say before Petyr interrupted her.

“Do you realise how foolish you’ve been? Both of you.”

“No, it’s my fault. I asked Olyvar to come with me even though I knew I shouldn’t have. He tried to talk me out of it and I just wouldn’t listen. Would you prefer he left me alone?”

“I’m disappointed. I didn’t think you would sink this low,” Petyr said but his eyes were looking straight at Olyvar, “do you have any idea how stupid you’ve been? I’ve trained you, put time into educating you. How long ago did we meet?”

Olyvar was quiet.

“How long?” Petyr insisted.

Olyvar opened his mouth to answer, but Petyr was faster and interrupted whatever he was planning to say.

“16 years ago… 16 years should be enough to learn but you don’t even seem to have a single thread of sense in your brain left? Am I really just surrounded by idiots?! And you, too,” he continued this time looking at Ros who had entered quietly just then sitting down on the sofa beside Olyvar, almost jumping at the tone of Petyr’s voice.

“Where are you in all of this?! Should you not be able to keep track of each other or who knows? Actually discussing things before executing them? Because someone is clearly lacking judgement,” he looked back at Olyvar, “maybe I should just take you out, both of you, there are many who would like to succeed you. I can’t believe I trusted you to be able to do one thing right?! Protection? It was all you were assigned for? And the very thing you couldn’t fulfill? Disappointed is a mild word for what I’m feeling. Do you have any idea of the danger you put yourself in?!”

He turned to Sansa now. It seemed he had _time_ for everyone.

“Isn’t it the typical stupidity of a young girl like yourself to not be able to simply talk to me before doing something like this?! Hm? Is that too much to ask? You should have come to me instantly, and nothing of this would have happened. It’s just like before - where were you even?! Why didn’t you come to me when you ran away from Ramsay?! I could have helped you, it’s perfectly simple. Why didn’t you?! Was it that difficult to give me a call?! You could have gotten yourself in the same situation today, and that’s on you too, Sansa, you can’t-”

“You shut it right now!” Ros interrupted him, standing up abruptly, “you have no idea what it was like for Sansa, it’s not “perfectly simple”, where have you been anyway?!”

“You know perfectly well where I’ve been, I’ve been away for-”

“Working, I know. But that’s not what I’m talking about! You took her in, but you don’t care to do anything for her, you’ve put us on all of that, to care for her needs. Where were you when she needed you?! Because you definitely were never there! I was. I’ve been here listening to her, I know what she’s been through and you got no idea,” laughs sadly, “no fucking idea what it’s been like for her, so don’t you dare say a word about what she should have done! She might have, if she could, but there might not have been a choice, and if she had one, there might be reasons why you weren’t the first one she wanted to call when running away. To even try to accuse her of something she had absolutely no control over, this is not her fault, and you will never understand. You know why?!”

“Enlighten me,” said Petyr.

“Because you’re cold, arrogant, and a pathetic brute who have never experienced what it’s like to not be in control. You would never understand how strong Sansa is for pulling through after everything she’s been through,” then Ros went silent for a moment, staring at Petyr and then giving Sansa a look, unsure but caring.

Petyr fell silent too, when he continued it was short but yet insistent, “you’re dismissed.”

He walked straight past them and disappeared up the stairs.

Ros approached Sansa, trying to offer some kind of support. Lowering her voice and putting an arm around her.

“I’m sorry, Sansa. But he has no right to treat you like that.”

Sansa offered her a smile, it was the only way she could thank her for making a stand in her name.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

_Do something to keep your mind off of it_. Sansa remembered Ros’ words when she asked her about ways to deal with flashbacks. She still had one as soon as she dismissed herself and closed the door to her room. As vividly as always. Unfortunately Sansa remembered all the tiny details that made her flashback a constant nightmare.

She was drawing now, a first sketch to a dress that will never see it’s fabrication, trying to _keep her mind off of it_ when she heard her door knocking and opening it without waiting for permission. Sansa continued drawing, not caring who might have interrupted her own way of making peace with her mind.

“Sansa, can I talk to you?”

It had been a long day, and it wasn’t ending as she thought it would. The last thing she needed now was Petyr going at her again.

“If you’re going to continue to scold me, do it another day. I’m tired and upset, the last thing I need is you continuing shouting and saying things you’re going to regret later on”

“Actually… I was going to… apologise.”

The pencil stopped drawing where the folding of the dress should have been. Sansa turned around and set her eyes on him, quite amazed after hearing that.

“Go on.”

“About what I said… I shouldn’t. I mean, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what happened to you, not exactly, and I have no right to judge. I was upset. I was upset because I was…” Petyr paused, “afraid of the consequences that could have been. To lose you to Ramsay again.”

She listened to what Petyr had to say, studying the look in his eyes, not interrupting him. When he finished, Sansa took her time before answering. How could she reply to that. Littlefinger apologising was not a common thing to witness.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t have said all those things. Jumping into conclusions like you did. We knew we fucked up, we didn’t need you reminding us. And Olyvar? He’s done everything to protect me, I induced him to do it. He had two choices, it was either going with me or letting me go on my own.”

“Olyvar is another issue and not yours to defend, you did nothing wrong, Sansa, but he has to stand up for the decisions he made. But that’s for another day. I am sorry, that I wasn’t there for you. I’ve been out working but it’s not an excuse, I should have been there.”

“Yes, you should have been.”

Sansa’s heart hurt when she said that. Because it was true, it was what she felt. Deep down she felt as if Petyr never really cared for her at all, maybe he was after her name. Use it as he thought fit. Everything she wanted was Petyr to be there with her, to be there _for_ her. She knew she needed him now more than ever, especially after coming out with Ros about what happened to her with Ramsay, wanting to get over her trauma. She needed those who mattered the most to her, she needed them close. And Petyr was not close. He was _distant_.

“I still can… be here for you… or is it too late?”

Sansa’s mind shouted _“no! It’s not too late!”_ but refused those words to come out. She had to make her stand. Let him understand the difficulty of her situation. And just _how bad_ she had missed him.

“He was after me, Petyr. He almost got me. I’d rather die than getting caught again.”

Petyr sat down on the bed, inviting her to sit down next to him. She went to him, arms folded, hands moving nervously.

“I will never let that happen again.” Petyr continued.

“How? Being away?”

“I came back, as soon as I realised something was… wrong. But I’ll take you with me next time, then I won’t be that far away?”

That was an option that soothed her. Made her hands stop moving and relax.

“I’d like that.”

“Can I hold you?”

“Yes please,” she needed this more than ever, needed _him_.

Petyr moved closer to put his arms around her, very lightly as first, and then a bit more firmly.

“He raped me, Petyr.”

That was the second time of the day her mind just blurted out words without her realising what she was doing. And Sansa felt embarrassed now.

Petyr held her, quiet for a moment, hugging her tightly.

“I’m so sorry, sweetling.”

He could probably feel her trembling, she was letting out all the stress of the day just now. Petyr gently pushed back just to be able to see her face, looking into her eyes.

“In an ideal world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you could have been my child. But this is reality. You’re more beautiful than she ever was... given the opportunity what do we do to those who’ve hurt the ones we love? He’ll pay,” the last words barely audible.

He leaned in, stopping just a few inches away from her.

Sansa allowed him to come close, and noticed the moment where he stopped. Was he waiting for her to make the first move? Did he stop to see if she truly allowed him to continue? Sansa leaned in and pressed her lips lightly against his.

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

Littlefinger was standing in front of him, he made Olyvar feel short even though he himself was in fact taller. They had been silent for about a minute already, or possibly longer. It felt more like an hour but Olyvar was used to this, keeping track of the time.

“Tell me _why_ ,” Littlefinger said, looking him straight in the eyes.

“You tell me,” Olyvar counted.

“You like her.”

“So what if I do?”

“You kissed her.”

“So what if I did?” Olyvar’s answered, his voice curt.

“You’re a disappointment, Olyvar. I thought you had learned something after all those years we’ve spent together, after everything I taught you,” Littlefinger looked down at his feet in clear disapproval, “you should know better-”

“Better than what?” he replied, surprised to see the look Littlefinger gave him when meeting his eyes again.

One time they had been close. It was an exceptional night that time, a time forgotten by everyone but Olyvar. They had stumbled onto the bed back at Olyvar’s now long gone flat, laughing at the stupidity of a man Littlefinger had sacked earlier that day and the woman who had so obviously yearned for his touch so much that she had chosen to step down from her post in Littlefinger’s favor and earned him a fair shot at getting in contact with the real people, the people of importance. It had been a big step towards one of Littlefinger’s many goals back then. But who really knew what Littlefinger’s goals was anyway? They stretched so far into the future that a younger Olyvar often questioned whether some of the so called plans were succeeded by mere coincidences, sheer luck out of spontaneous actions, but he had been proven wrong, for Littlefinger had always managed to get closer and closer to his goals, whatever they were. Mysteries, for everyone but him.

That time they had shared a glass of gin, talking about the dumb faces of the people they had played, that was when it had happened. Olyvar must have been stupid himself back then, brave and stupid, for he leaned forward to quiet the laughter, to press his lips against Littlefinger’s. The man in front of him hadn’t even flinched, it had seemed fine. Previous to that moment Olyvar had done nothing but watch and listen as his boss deceived and seduced. Taught in distancing his own feelings from logic and reason he never felt anything for the man, but he had caught himself watching intently, never taking his eyes of the grey-blue eyes of Littlefinger. He had gone to bed too many times with the lingering thought of his supervisor, that jet black hair with the white temples, the smug look on his face, his body, lying next to his own.

The kiss was everything he had dreamed of, hot and wild and experienced. So was his own tongue. Littlefinger had seen to that, but never had he himself indulged in anything with any of his own employees as far as Olyvar knew of. He had been taught how to use his tongue with precision, how to move his hands, how to make both women and men cry out of pleasure with a single touch. He was more qualified in this subject than most. But this felt new, the meeting of flesh as trained as himself, somehow maybe even more so. Their mouths crashed against each other, all teeths and tongues and wetness. It would be the first of several times the coming months. Just two mouths kissing and exploring. After a chase - the adrenaline still pumping through their veins, after a successful meeting Littlefinger could turn to Olyvar and share one long intimate touch. Later he learned what it had all been about, he shouldn’t have been surprised.

It was a few months later, a new flat, a new bed, new status and titles. A new situation, they were closer this time, hands roaming for more contact, for skin. A hand slid itself between his legs and Olyvar let out a rough groan, tugging at Littlefinger’s ironed shirt. It had never felt like a pretended act, it had always been real to Olyvar, pure in a what seemed afterwards like a naive way. When Littlefinger backed off with that smirk on his face and those eyes reflecting the content of victory Olyvar felt more stupid than ever, his own face blushed with an open mouth letting out small pants, his blood pulsing fast through his body and his cock already hard as a rock. He knew he had lost for Littlefinger showed none of those things, he seemed like his normal self, all control, all... above it all - wasn’t he always. Olyvar straightened his clothes but the bulge was clearly visible through his garments, his foolishness on display. He had been played with, just like all of them. He had learned that day, a lesson Littlefinger surely had figured out he was in desperate need of him. Never to dream of his manager again, for that was all they would ever be. Business, just business.

“Falling for an ordinary woman.”

Here they were, in a room conveniently enough in the Fingers and Littlefinger accused Olyvar of falling for a woman? Was that really what he had done, had he fallen for Sansa?

“So what if I have.”

“Surely you must have heard some of the words I’ve spoken these last couple of minutes?”

“You’re only upset because you fear she might be more interested in me than she is in you.”  
The silence grew between them.

“I came further with her than you have ever done,” Olyvar said after a while, fearing that his voice might break.

It was stupid, all of this. After all this time and he still did dream of him, he wanted him. Olyvar had come to term with that. He would never have him, but neither would anyone else. That was the nature of Mr. Petyr Baelish. He didn’t get attached. Perhaps he would spend a night with someone, perhaps he kissed a girl to get himself to a higher position but never would he ever have someone. Olyvar had been okay with that, after all, he would always be the one who would have come closest. But now there was this girl, this woman. He hadn’t wanted to see it for what it was at first, but to his dismay he had realised he had been wrong. There would be someone for Littlefinger.

Olyvar had always known he had been attracted to men, it had never been a problem for him. But he had learned, and he had worked hard at the Fingers. But never had he ever felt anything for anyone. Bodily needs was one thing, fucking someone was all business, that he had learned. But when Sansa Stark walked out of the car to introduce herself for the first time everything changed.

Olyvar could see it now. She truly was special, just like Littlefinger - and neither of them would ever be his.

“I love her,” Olyvar continued, tears threatening to spill over, his voice a weak whisper in the soundproof room, “and that’s more than you’ll ever be able to say. Don’t even try to tell me differently. I know you, I know you better than anyone else and I see the way you look at her. I do too. At least I don’t fear to admit it. I don’t fear it, you know. I did once. I was scared that what I felt for you would develop to something more, to go deeper. But it never did. I learnt how to live with that. The longing for your touch. Because I realised that it wasn’t by ignoring my feelings that I would get past them, it was by accepting them.”

“Feelings make you weak, make you prioritise the wr-”

“You’re wrong. For being so clever you can be awfully thick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, whether you joined in recently or have been with us since the start - it means the world to us! Please let us know your thoughts on this chapter and the story so far!  
> Olyvar and Ros was written by the same who's writing Petyr. Lysa was written by the one also writing Sansa.


	11. Brave people are afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I've finished chapter 11, about 7 months later (and on Halloween - what a more suiting date for out creepyship?) and your favourite awful couple is back. This chapter is featuring unusually much smut and past non-con. Please thread carefully and take care of yourselves.

_Chapter 11:_ ****BRAVE PEOPLE ARE AFRIAD**.**

* * *

 

**PETYR**

Petyr just looked at the man in front of him, that was what he was now. A grown man. The boy he once was should be gone, never to come back; the nativity, should be gone just like his own had died with the cut from Brandon Stark’s persistent steel over his skin.

He had taught him everything, and Littlefinger had thought him a masterpiece. He had been wrong though, hadn’t he?

Olyvar’s eyes looked down at him, down, at him. It should have made him feel awful, but it was not their height differences that made left Petyr nauseous. It was the look that Petyr was always able to bring out of him. The look of someone who hasn't given up, of someone who still hoped. It was a horrible sight.

***

It was late when Petyr knocked on Sansa’s door.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, come on in,” her voice replied.

“I just wanted to… say goodnight,” he said as he opened the door.

Sansa’s eyes were red. For a short moment he contemplated whether or not he should leave her to herself, give her some privacy it would certainly be what he’d have wanted in her place - but _he_ didn’t want that, Petyr was tired, and he needed her.

“Good night…” she trailed off and looked away, possibly to hide the state she was in.

Sansa raised herself from the bed to stand by her desk instead, absently replacing a pen with another: ink, black.

“All good today?” she asked, definitely trying to shift his attention to something other than her eyes.

It was obvious, the way she tried to hide her own feelings about whatever had upset her earlier that day. Petyr could relate to that, if he ever felt anything at all, he surely put it all away from the prying eyes of others. He played along, simply answering the question.

“Not really, no… business not really going as planned.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that,” she was kind, unlike so many others - but her kindness did not suit his world.

Sansa was still not looking at him, her reddened eyes settled on the mess on her desk instead and seemed to be pretending to be preoccupied, as if not wanting to be disturbed. Somehow it was difficult knowing if she was playing hard to get or actually wanting him to leave. Petyr wondered whether he cared at the moment.

“Sansa, you can talk to me. I hope you know that,” he paused, “it’s actually what got in the way this time. Being honest with the ones we trust is what can make us grow, lying is only efficient with the ones we want to grow past. But when growing with someone, honesty is the best way. Trust me on this, Sansa.”

She was quiet for a while, as if letting his words sink in, before she finally turned towards him.

“I’m sorry, I had a rough day as well… Ros’s therapy sessions are helping me a lot and I didn’t have anyone to talk to today and I just don’t know if I’m being overdramatic or not,” she trailed off, interrupted by a rush of tears running down her soft pink cheeks.

Petyr put his hand on the lever and closed it as he moved closer to her, almost gliding over the floor as smooth as a cat until he was standing beside her bed, still a few feet away from her, giving her the distance she might or might not be wanting.

“What’s on your mind, sweetling?”

“I was reading a book…” Sansa begun, taking a deep breath to slow her falling tears, “it used to be my favorite, I even got it signed by the author,” another inhale and she looked up at him, a smile faintly visible on her still sad looking face, “so this story; it’s a love story, a beautiful one where he does everything that’s in his power to get to where she is,” Sansa paused again, her eyes skittering away from his as if she was remembering a particular scene in that book of hers, “and that was it. I suddenly realised I was never going to have that? Who’s going to want me after everything Ramsay did to me? I don’t know anything about relationships, I’ve never truly experienced what is like to have a man really want me… in that way…”

“Why say you’re never going to have that?” Petyr countered, an answering smile wanting to spring through but he pushed it down, keeping his face in control, making his expression blank, but not uncaring, “you’re still young, you still have time to experience, to live. They will want you. You’ve been hurt, but you’re not soiled, Sansa. If they don’t want you they’re stupid, stupid for not seeing your beauty, stupid for not thinking you could be worth it.”

Another moment of quiet and Petyr was sure that his words had hit home, her expression softened, but somehow concern over the matter was still evident in her eyes.

“But I’m afraid. I’m scared of going out there and actually having to tell someone else about what happened. Who’s going to want to keep up with my issues? I’m alone in this.”

 _Oh, sweetling, you are not alone_ he thought to himself, not daring to raise the words. Instead he fell quiet for a moment, lost to all the things he could lay bare before him, showing her all his many scars. He could tell her, tell her that she wasn’t alone in this, that she was not the only one, that there were people who would understand, that he would, for one, that he did indeed understand. But Littlefinger straightened his back for him, raising an eyebrow in an elegant arch at his own trail of thoughts. _Don’t spill your darkest secrets, not even to her._ Definitely not to her. Petyr lowered his gaze, inhaled before he spoke: “you’re not alone, and there are people who will listen to you. I, for one, would always listen,” he said warily, of himself or her reaction, he wasn’t sure.

Petyr looked at her again, almost touched at the rawness he could see on her face. This meant something to her. Littlefinger was satisfied, a part of him felt that this was the best way to move her, let her play the part in his game so that he would get her sprawled out where he wanted her. But another part insisted that this was more than that, that this was what his heart truly desired. It wasn’t just about her irresistible figure, auburn hair and Tully eyes. It was so much more. To his surprise she closed the space between them to put her arms around him. She hugged him, he realised.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me right now.”

He felt his body going rigid involuntarily, by what reason he wasn’t sure. Possibly the fact that he had her so near, so close, or the control he had to put up to resist her, either way the embrace seemed to be just what he needed, and for the first time in a very long time he could feel how very exhausted he was after everything that had happened.

Petyr moved his arms to return the favor, placing his hands firmly on the small of her back. He could feel the soft fabric under his fingertips, her hair just inches away from his face.

“Anytime,” he answered softly.

Sansa stayed, she didn’t let go of him and he feared she might hear his heart pounding in his chest. Evidence of how very human he was. Her arms made their way up from his back to his neck and at the same time she turned to face him.

Petyr inhaled harshly, making sure not to move anything but his gaze, locking his eyes with hers. Drunken with the sight of her, his eyes unconsciously travelled down to pause at her lips.

“Petyr?”

He swallowed in reply, feeling as though the simple call of his name sat him on fire, the exhaustion he felt earlier, completely gone, slowly he moved his hands up her back to cup her face, making sure not to lean into her although all his instincts were telling him to. He had to wait for her.

Sansa’s breathing picked up and Petyr felt as though he was finally winning. This was the only war he would ever have had to conquer, and this was him winning.

“I…”

“What?”, he breathed although it wasn’t really a question, his eyes still half closed but looking into hers again, trying to find confirmation in them.

“I… I don't know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

She took her time to consider his question it seemed, and for a moment Petyr was afraid that he was losing her, that she would withdraw and that he would never have her in his arms again - but then she leaned in, her eyes searching his before they settled lower, staring at his lips like he had fixed on hers, and then she was kissing him. It was just a faint brush of lips, hot against his and Petyr kept very still, as if being faced with a deer, not wanting to scare it away. It didn’t take long though, soon he could feel her body move closer to his and Petyr wanted her closer, he wanted them to fuse and never to be separate entities again. Everything in his body was telling him to go fast, to envelop her and devour her, but he knew he couldn’t, he knew he wouldn’t - instead he simply leaned in, pressing his lips back at hers to let her know what he wanted without being too persistent. Something inside Petyr melted when he felt her kissing becoming more urgent, nibbling at his lower lip as she pushed them both further down the room, towards her bed - Petyr noted with triumph.

They stumbled on the bed together in a disarray of limbs and duvets, Sansa landing on top of him. Her touch became more insistent, her hands fumbling as if she truly didn’t know what she was doing, not anywhere close to the likes of Littlefinger’s employees, and somehow that made it even better, made him want _more_ and Petyr felt pretty confident that Sansa wanted that too.

He rolled them over, finally allowing himself to show her exactly how much he _needed_ her, ending up hovering above her delicate figure instead of settling on top of her - to make sure that he didn’t put any weight on her, not wanting her to feel trapped and trigger memories he knew could end it sooner than he would prefer it to.

Petyr continued kissing her, letting his tongue slide over her plump lips to allow him entrance, slowly seeking permission - and to his great satisfaction she opened her mouth for him, slowly parting her lips in an invitation for him to taste her and her hands moved in circles over his shirt, fingers working at the first buttons at his collar.

Petyr moved to her left side so that he wouldn’t be crowding her, making her feel trapped and instead let one side stay free of him, to let her know that she had a way out if she wanted it.

Fingers lost in her auburn hair he moved them quickly to cover hers, stilling her urgent movements over his buttons and reluctantly breaking their sharing of tongues.

“You sure you want this?” he breathed heavily.

“Yes,” Sansa replied, as out of breath as he felt, “you?”

“More than anything,” Petyr replied completely honestly, kissing her again, not wanting any distance between them and yet only letting his hands touch her shoulders, consciously not letting any other part of him touch her body, and Sansa kissed back (he could get addicted to this, this _feeling_ of her finally allowing him to do this). After a couple minutes she broke free, leaving him without her lips on his again and Petyr felt somehow less than before.  
“I… I dont know what to do,” Sansa’s words came admittingly.  
Petyr looked into her eyes, contemplating the many choices before him and made a decision, he continued their kiss again, only to leave her wet mouth to travel down her throat.

“You have to tell me to stop if you want me to,” he breathed against miles of exposed skin, pale and beautiful under his lips.

“Yes, ok, I will,” she managed between moans and Petyr smiled as he worked to cover all of which he could reach with the press of lips, adding a light touch of his tongue.

She tasted like clean linen, lemons and salt. It made him delirious.

“Promise?” Petyr prompted.

“Yes, oh my god keep doing that please?”

He chuckled, but continued with his work, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin, his hands still making soft circles over her shoulder. Reluctantly he took his mouth off of her.

“Tell me, tell me where you like me to touch you?” he rasped, wanting, _needing_ to hear her say it.

“Everywhere, just touch me,” came her answer and Petyr felt drunk on her words, her sounds, the feeling of _her_ under him.

Hesitantly, wary of any signs of discomfort he finally let his hands move away from her shoulder and letting them move down her upper arms instead, steadily stroking her as he continued to lap at her throat and neck, licking his way up her ear, whispering: “you’ll tell me to stop if it doesn’t feel good, okay?”

“Yes, I will…” Sansa replied, voice barely audible and put her arms around his neck, “Petyr… would you… take off my clothes?”

 _God_ just hearing her _talk_ made Petyr afraid he might lose all of his self-control at once, ending it way too soon. He fought hard to not start ripping her clothes off her upon receiving permission. It was the sweetest prize, her permission, and he hoped it would continue to pour out her lovely mouth. He craved it like nothing he had craved before. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes to collect himself.

“Sansa… don’t think I don’t want to, because I do, but are you sure of this? You sure you want to?” he had to hear her say it, again, he _needed_ to know it was true, he craved that permission like water on a hot summer’s day in the desert.

“I want to… I want to feel your mouth… on me,” she said, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she voiced her request aloud and started working on his shirt buttons again, as if wanting something to do - or possibly to _see him_.

Petyr wanted that, but it had to wait. This night wasn’t about him - it was about her, and so he put his mouth on hers again, hard this time, but not violently, just not able to contain his urgency this time around. He let his hands glide down her waist, taking the fabric of her top in his hands and trying to yank it up her torso.

“Can you lift your arms for me?” he asked, pushing at her clothing to make sure she would have to let go of his buttons.

“Sure… sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, sweetling, there's nothing to be sorry for…” Petyr assured her, kissing her neck again, urgent to clear her mind of any similar thinking.

This time his lips continued to move down her front, stopping with each press of lips against pale and hot skin to gaze up at her face, making sure he didn’t miss any cues of her being uncomfortable with his touch.

“... this alright?” he managed.

“Yes... “ Sansa put her hands on his hair, fingers finding a few strands and twisted it in her grasp.

Upon reaching her belly he went up from his position on her left side to move to hover on four again, leaning over her, but not touching her with anything other than his mouth on her skin.

“You sure you want this?” he knew that perhaps he was pushing it around too much, but he needed it, to make sure that she still wanted it, that she wanted _his_ lips against her, he needed to know - or else he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

She had to like it, no, she had to _love_ it. Petyr didn’t know if he could survive if he only got this, this one time, if she would instead curl in on herself and never let him close again. He needed her to _want_ this. To want _him_.

Petyr touched her hip lightly with one finger and let it travel down her trousers, very lightly grasping at her thigh, implying a question of invitation.

Sansa looked at him, locking her eyes on his.

“I want this. I want you,” she said and Petyr shuddered.

Not able to look anywhere but into her eyes he started to unbutton her trousers, unzipping them.

“Lift…” he said, voice low and husky.

Sansa’s breathing picked up as she lifted her hips as requested and Petyr jerked the trousers down her legs, consciously making sure not to take her underwear down with them. As he threw the clothing down at the general direction of the floor he nudged her legs apart, looking into her eyes as he placed himself in the space between.

“Anytime…” he said softly, “tell me to stop and I will,” his eyes still on hers he lowered his head to kiss the inside of her thigh.

“Petyr…” she moaned in reply and Petyr kept his nose against her skin as he give it a slow lick.

Voice low against her he continued: “what?”

“Dont stop, I don’t want you to stop, okay?”

Breaking eye contact he kissed his way up her thigh to her most private part, her panties still on he just breathed against her, nose shyly nudging at her heat, still with an unspoken question in the air between them.

“Oh my god, please,” Sansa pleaded, her moan louder and more urgent than before and Petyr smiled.

He kissed her, slowly, at first, just pressing his face into her, breathing her in, then hesitantly he started placing open mouthed kisses through the fabric, feeling his own need pressed hard against the covers he moaned into her.

Sansa’s hands were back in his hair, playing with it, and almost slightly pushing him closer still.

With the final promise of permission Petyr let his hand roam her body eagerly, but still pausing every time he reached a spot he hadn’t touched before, slowing down a bit, making sure she could push him off her if she didn’t want him there anymore.

“Petyr… take it off.”

Petyr gave out a soft moan, not sounding much like him. He knew then that he could lose it then and there, only to the sound of his name on her lips.

He hooked his fingers to her underwear, pushing them down and then letting them slide down her legs. He lowered his face to her again, hesitantly putting one of his hands close to her breast, waiting for her to push into his touch. He took a deep breath, smelling her before he gave her a soft lick, just the one, searching her face for any reactions; the first that came was her body shifting, shuddering almost immediately upon the touch of his tongue at her wetness, the next was a exclamation, her lips forming the single word: “fuck!” and then her body relaxed, her legs parting by own accord to give him better access and Petyr was drunk as the sight. Sansa grabbed his hand and moved their shared ones to cup her breast, slipping it through her bra.

“Petyr please don’t stop,” she rasped and Petyr gave her a gentle squeeze as he licked a second time, bottom to top, pressing his tongue flat against her.

Petyr pushed his tongue inside her, licking and sucking his way in, placing his free hand on her hip to pull her even closer, letting his tongue reach further inside of her.

At Sansa’s hips pushing up against him Petyr smiled, starting to work up a steady rhythm of working in and out of her, lapping inside of her to end with a flick against her nub and then start over again as he circled her nipple with his index finger.

Petyr sped up the speed of his tongue, licking faster and harder against her, nipping and teasing her as he stroked her thigh up and down with his free hand.

Sansa’s moans were starting to increase and she licked his hand in what seemed like a reply to Petyr’s lapping at her center. Her thighs were starting to quiver and he could tell she was close and the knowledge added to the sensation of her hot and wet tongue on his palm made a very primal sound escape him as he continued to lick her with a newly found need of his own, stronger than ever before. Petyr had always been good at self-control, but it was is it had all been lost at Sansa’s touch, there were no trace to it anymore and he rocked his hips once against the duvets, desperate for a little relief of friction against himself.

“Petyr…” Sansa’s voice was not quite a whisper, shaking as it made the sounds into words, her trembling increased and Petyr made another sound into her, egging her on - and then her body tensed, muscles straining as she reaches the highest peak of pleasure before relaxing, almost melting down into the covers.

“Oh, Petyr…” she panted and Petyr continued to caress her through her climax, with slow soft movements.

When she was spent he crawled up to her, leaning on his elbow with his front onto the bed, hiding the hardness throbbing for release.

He kissed her on her lips, and then her forehead.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said.

“Petyr… Petyr, that was amazing. Now it’s my turn,” she managed trying to catch her breath, eyelids heavy with the afterglow of her orgasm.

She turned towards him, slowly incorporating her body to move but Petyr put his hand on her shoulder once again, to gently push her down back against soft duvets once again.

“Take it easy, Sansa. There’s no need to rush,” he said and kissed her softly.

“I’m ok. I can do this. Just show me. I want to make you feel the way you made me feel,” she started at the buttons on his shirt for the third time and Petyr only smiled in return, moving his hand to hers and gripped them steadily, but not harshly.

“This is enough for today, sweetling. I’m alright.”

“I’m fine,” Sansa insisted, her promise followed by a yawn, “I’m fine.”

“Sleep my dear,” he said even though the length of him pressing into the bed wanted to tell her differently.

Sansa’s eyes closed, her lips moved and it should have been impossible to make any sense of the words coming out from them, yet he did, somehow, it was obvious to him: “Petyr… thank you.”

He smiled. He was the luckiest man alive.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

Sansa opened her eyes, the sun had barely entered the room yet it gave the sheets and walls a yellow kind of glow. She felt more relaxed than she had in several days, she hadn’t slept this well in a good while. That was when she realised the body next to her, an arm draped over her shoulder and another serving as a pillow right at the hollow of her neck. She looked down, noticing her left hand had locked itself into the other’s. A soft breathing tingled on her cheek. She liked it. Turning around she found his eyes closed.

It was strange, seeing him like that, more vulnerable than he’d ever let her see her before. It made her think about the scar she had noticed the other night, she didn’t know the story behind it, nor did she feel inclined to break the spell of the morning. It could wait - but somehow it made her feel closer to him. There were scars, permanent marks of things that had happened in the past, that had happened to the both of them. They both carried them, but they were both alive. Now. Breathing. She smiled and leaned closer to him, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. Leaning back she could see a smile former his lips even though his eyes were yet closed.

“Morning,” he said, his voice not at all as lazy as his posture wanted to tell her.

“Good morning,” she replied, smiling back.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Very good… thanks to you…” she gave a short laugh, “how about you?”

“Haven’t been this good in a very long time,” he said finally opening his eyes, his grey-green eyes staring into hers - it looked different somehow, as if his smile had finally reached his eyes.

It stirred something inside of her, something like… happiness.

Looking at him she noticed he wasn’t under the covers like her, but resting on top of them.

“What are you doing out there? Come in here with me,” she said, making an effort to lift the sheets and cover her body at the same time.

Petyr looked hesitant at first, seeming to consider her offer, but whatever he made his mind on he crawled in underneath the covers with her, leaving some space between the two of them.  
Sansa, careful to still be covering her body moved closer to him, smiling at him in a slightly awkward silence.

“Petyr… about last night… thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied, not a heartbeat too late.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you… what about you? We didn’t do anything about you?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m good.”

“But-,” she tried, moving even closer to him not caring anymore if he could feel her naked body through his clothes or not, “I really want to try. Show me how.”

“I told you, Sansa, there’s no need to rush things,” his smile was fading, but his voice was still soft, eyes still kind on her.

Sansa barely let him finish his phrase and kissed him, softly at first, then hard. She wanted to let him know how thankful she was. Her hands playing with his hair while they kissed, his mouth pliant against hers. When they paused to breath she moved her hands towards his chest, her fingers making circles above the scar she remembered having caught a glimpse off. She then laid one open hand over his heart, and felt it beating fast under her fingertips - taking it as a sign to continue she let her hand travel downwards, resting at the edge of his trousers and not hesitating before starting to unbutton them. _What comes next?_ she wondered, unsure.

Petyr’s breath started to speed up, she could tell, it was audible in the quiet of her room and yet he gently put his hand over hers - the one that had started to work on his trousers.

“You sure you want this, Sansa? You don’t have to…”

“I do,” she replied stubbornly, continuing her work and kissed him again, pressing open his lips with her tongue, not sure if to shut him up or if to make herself clear, “I do want you. I want to feel you,” she said, his trousers now unzipped and she tried to feel her way down, not daring to follow with her eyes.

When her fingers gently touched the length of him she looked into his eyes, looking for any sign of approval.

Petyr nodded, his breath hitching as her fingertips gently stroke him, his eyes scanning her, moving from her face, her hand, and back to her face. It seemed as if he was trying to keep his gaze there and Sansa felt him grow against her touch, slowly but surely, biting her lip - unsure if it was in concentration or something else - she sneaked her hand under his boxers, curling her fingers around him. He was hot, hotter than she had expected and she shivered at the feel of him, her hand trembling slightly. Even though his breaths came out ragged he didn’t stop for a moment, his voice low but steady: “Sansa… you sure you’re okay doing this?”

“Yes!” she replied, almost sharply, “I want to.”

She inhaled deeply, had she said it to prove something to him - or to herself? No, this was for him, she wanted to make him feel what he had been able to give her only yesterday. It was only fair.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Can you… move your hand?”

“Okay,” Sansa’s hand was trembling, moving slightly whether she wanted to or not, “how? What direction?”

She stared into his chest, noting the way it rose and fell, she heard fabric move before she felt his skin on hers, his hand resting softly but steadily on top. He gripped around the two of them, making her hand move, showing her how to stroke from bottom to top, trying for a steady rhythm.

Sansa tried as best as she could to follow. His breathing was going faster now. A breathing sound that was familiar - and just like that she wasn’t there anymore. Instead it felt darker, colder, more clammy than the soft golden light of the morning. Staring at nothing specifically she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. It was alright, this, moving her hand, it was rhythmic, an almost mechanical move and it was easy. So easy to make a man enjoy himself… _‘That’s what you all want isn’t it?’_ she felt the hot hand slapping her again, hard, _‘you’re a slut, just like the rest’_ another slap. Sansa could feel tears running down, it was another of those frightful nights. Just one of many. Her head pinned down, not being able to move and Ramsay having his way with her on top of a table. _‘Tell me you don’t fucking love this… you’re as wet as the whore I fucked this morning’_ his voice was sounding harsh, the sound of him moving inside her made her nauseous, but it was better this way, she could feel him approaching the end. She wanted him to end it. Please God, let it end.

When he finally did he lowered himself over her for a moment. Panting. He touched her mark. The one he had made on their first night together, and licked it. _‘Good girl’_.

“Sansa?” a voice was calling, softer than the walls around her, softer than the weight she could feel on top of her.

“Sansa?” it continued.

The voice brought her back to reality. Petyr. She felt him in her hand.

“I have to,” she said, her voice sounding as harsh as she felt the memory closing in on her, her hand continued stroking him, faster this time, “I have to do this.”

“No…” he said but his voice sounded strangled, as if pushed out of him against his will, “no, Sansa, you don’t have to,” he gripped her arm, stilling it, trying to make her stop, “Sansa, stop.”

Sansa felt his hand gripping her arm, but she was back on the desk, trying to recover herself from the violence her body bad just suffered. She grabbed her underwear resting at her knees and slipped them up again. She followed doing the same with her trousers. She was about to leave when Ramsay gripped her arm. _‘Where do you think you’re going?’_

He pulled at her hair, making her get on her knees. _‘You know what to do’_

A force pushed her away, she felt like crying, unsure what was real anymore. Did it really matter? It had been real, it all had. Everything that shouldn’t have been. She could feel strong arms trying to move her, and she let them, what did it matter - it only got worse when she struggled. She heard the sound of duvets moving, felt a body moving under hers, away from her but she could still feel the chest underneath her moving, breathing.

“Sansa, come back to me, wherever you are, it’s not happening right now. You’re not there, it’s over. You’re with me. Sansa? I got you, okay, you’re here,” it was Petyr’s voice, she knew, but she was suddenly too tired to care, she felt his hand moving in circles on her shoulder.

 _‘It’s over’_ she heard Petyr’s voice. _‘It’s not over’_ she heard Ramsay. _‘You need to finish Sansa’_ . Ramsay pulled her hair and looked at her eyes. The eyes of the crazy, the mad. _‘You know how I like it, so you better start’_ Sansa had his cock in front of her and opened her mouth, what else could she do? Before she could change her mind Ramsay forced himself into her mouth. He pulled her hair and forced her to look at her _‘and look at me while you do it’_.

“Sansa, I need you to talk to me? Can you do that?” Petyr was calling to her, but Petyr wasn’t there, Ramsay was, yet he continued, “Sansa, listen to me, you’re safe now, you’re safe. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she replied weakly, closing her eyes and opening them.

She was sweating and trembling. She was in need of fresh air.

She left the bed looking for her clothes or something to cover herself with. She didn’t know where to go so she just stood there in the middle of the room. The tears falling, unasked for.

Petyr got up quickly, putting himself away, zipping his trousers. He picked up a blanket from the bed and slowly approached her, when she didn’t flinch away he covered her with it, holding his hands on each side of her shoulders.

“You’re safe now, Sansa, do you hear me? You’re safe,” he embraced her hesitantly, putting his arms on her back but kept a certain distance between their bodies.

“He made me look at him,” she said, looking at Petyr, “he pulled my hair.”

Petyr kissed her forehead, stroking her arm soothingly.

“It’s over. Sansa, you don’t have to do anything. You should only do what you want, and don’t let others make you if you don’t feel like it.”

“Petyr…” her head resting on his neck, “promise me you won’t hurt me. Please promise me”

“I promise. I won’t hurt you, ever."

 

* * *

**PETYR**

He looked into the mirror in front of him, it was clean, no smudges on any of the corners. He liked to keep things like that, clean, controlled, compared to the face of the man staring back at him where he could see all kinds of emotions coming and going. He didn’t like that, not the slightest.

Petyr had left Sansa alone, he hadn’t dared to leave her in her own room, fearing she might just get triggered by the recent events that had taken place there. Instead he had moved her to his own room. There was nothing else to be done, was it? This was what he had told himself when letting someone into his bedroom for the very first time. He liked to keep that room to himself, somewhere to stay and refill after being drained by the work and the people around him. It was a private place, and now he had shared it. Sansa having curled up in the bed as he had looked down on her, being unsure whether or not it was okay to leave her. But he felt like he had to, he had to get away. Away from what exactly? Petyr wasn’t sure. He had asked her several times, making sure that she was okay with him leaving her there alone.

A part of him felt blank, empty. But empty was the last word that could describe him. An urge, a very primitive need was still present and laying flat, still hard even after everything, against his stomach. What did this say about him? He if someone would have been able to make his body react accordingly, appropriately. He if someone would be able to keep his bodily needs in check, but then, he never seemed to be able to do that, did he? Petyr swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment and then looked back into the eyes of the man he couldn’t really recognise in the mirror. All the control he had been working on seemed to have fled, gone from the surface of the Earth completely. He needed it back, the control. He couldn’t have this. He wouldn’t have this. As if it wasn’t enough, his hand seemed to have travelled south on its own, as if his own thoughts meant nothing to him. Petyr exhaled when his trousers were not in his way of touching, skin against skin. He was so close, already on the brink of spilling over when he had made Sansa stop. Petyr shut his eyes, leaning one hand against the wall for support as his hand started sliding up and down against his length. It all seemed to spin around his head, Sansa, just a few moments ago, her graceful hands doing exactly what his hand had continued doing now, and Petyr felt simultaneously nauseous and even more turned on than before. And Sansa from yesterday, sprawled out on the bed, wanting him, his mouth on her, inside of her. He shut his eyes tighter as he jerked in his hand and hotness seeped out all over his hand, his vision almost turning black for a short moment.

When he had regained full consciousness he felt worse. He thought this would have made him feel better, but it didn’t. Petyr felt stupid, stupid for giving in again to such basic, primal needs. He was angry with himself for not being in his room comforting Sansa, for not being where she needed him to be. What if she knew? Why did it matter to him? He had always portrayed himself as a sexual person, but was that true? Maybe Olyvar was right, maybe it was all talk, just a front like everything else. Petyr had always seen himself above other men, being able to contain his feelings and suppress his needs when others couldn’t.

He inhaled, taking a deep breath to try and make himself feel better. He should be thinking of yesterday, when he had finally gotten what he wanted.

Suddenly he felt gross in a way he had not felt for many years, and things he thought hadn’t meant anything to him all stormed and roared inside of him, wanting to come out. The memory of Sansa’s taste on his tongue seemed to be exchanged with another, one he remembered just as vividly and Petyr leant down over the toilet. His body wrenched as he threw up the little dinner he had been able to put in his otherwise empty stomach. It all flashed before his eyes. He could feel her under his fingertips again and Petyr made his grip on the toilet tighter, but he could still feel her skin, hardened from age and yet as soft as it once was.  
Lysa moaned in his ear as he closed the space between the two of them. She had really been waiting for this, hadn’t she? Petyr lowered his head and kissed her lightly on her neck. Lysa clawed at his back as he made his way down with open mouthed kisses on her skin.  
Now he wondered what had gone wrong. Petyr had been with other women throughout his life. He had done what was necessary to get where he was today, it hadn’t come without a price. A price Petyr Baelish was willing to pay. He got sex, a little time of pleasure, to gain power over something or someone. It seemed like a win-win situation, didn’t it? So why was it different with Lysa? It was just sex after all. Just an act of need that was within human nature. Why couldn’t he feel the need this time? Petyr had found himself often picturing a certain redhead as he had his way with people, or as he let others have their way with him. But this time he didn’t have to picture it. The red hair shined in the dim light of the bedroom. But it wasn’t the one he had wanted it to be. “You can’t have everything”, they often said, but Petyr wanted everything. If he truly wanted everything, he would want this too. He should want this too, so why didn’t he? He felt at loss with himself as he tried to rub himself against her leg, not receiving the reaction from himself as he wanted. His body had betrayed him, just like now, as he tried to collect himself above the toilet. Back then he had taken a small step back, making sure that Lysa wouldn’t be able to feel him against her anymore, just like he had with Sansa, but for a different reason, that time to further make sure that she wouldn’t notice his nonexistent need. Petyr had slipped his hand under her panties and touched her, nibbling at her ear as he listened to her letting out the most awful primal sounds. He would see this through with or without his body’s consent. It was just an act, nothing more. Just like all of his previous acts he had played to achieve what he wanted.  
Petyr clutched at her dress, taking it off her fast and efficiently assuring her that he was as eager as herself. Lysa smiled at him, that horrible smile of hers. It was genuine, but she looked twisted, just like that time so many years ago. Petyr swallowed, not sure if it was because of the memory or to make it look like he was dying to be with her.  
“Finally, Petyr,” Lysa said, making him shiver, as she opened her arms to him.  
He came forward, only to push her hard, making her stumble backwards onto the bed behind her. Petyr didn’t reply, he took the final step to close the space between them and lowered himself over her, kissing her stomach and continuing further down until he found her center with his tongue and she cried out, loud, to the ceiling.  
He continued licking at her, he had always been good with his body, good at making people feel good, and Lysa cried with each lick. He entered with his tongue, thinking of all of those times he had tried to stick it inside of Cat’s mouth, but she had always denied him. Only Lysa allowed him to do that, just like now, him sticking his tongue inside of her. It seems that was his fate, being inside of Lysa. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about the taste or the smell. He didn’t want to be able to remember it. Why? Petyr wondered at himself. One time he would have found pride in this, and he would have bragged about it afterwards. But Petyr wasn’t the same man as he once was. Something had started to change within him.  
When Lysa started to reach her peak he let his hands roam around her thighs, touch her stomach and clench at her arse. When she came she screamed louder than ever, and Petyr had found himself thinking about Sansa.

Petyr wiped his mouth, letting the water stream over his hands to collect himself. His breathing was ragged, and a part of him wanted to say that it was because of how wicked he was. A part of him had found pride in the fact that even after having seen the girl he had learnt he truly cared about panic in front of him, having thought it was a necessity to touch him, Petyr had touched himself to the thought of her. As if the girl’s own feelings didn’t matter to him at all. Petyr dried his hands and touched his cheek. It was still dry. He exhaled, relieved but not feeling much better as he took of his clothes and stepped into the shower.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr stretched out his legs in front of him, trying to ease the tingling sensation of having been still for too long in the same position. He took a deep breath, trying to make himself focus on the task at hand - another message that needed answers, another upset customer, another dangerous man in another country. It all needed taking care of, and even though his minions got a lot of the work done for him some of the things had to go through _him_ in person.

Engrossed with work he barely noticed Sansa approaching, book in hand and a cup of tea in the other, his mind slowly making sense of her words.

“Hey, mind if I join you?” he eventually realised she had asked.

“There’s plenty of space for the two of us,” Petyr replied hastily.

It was rewarded by a smile as she carefully sat down beside him, curling her legs underneath herself and opening up the book in her lap, eyes skimming through the pages in a quick pace.

Petyr had wanted to ask her for quite some time, but it was difficult, knowing when to bring such delicate matters up, especially considering who he was dealing with. Littlefinger was always attentive of the triggers of people, and when, where and what he would have to do in order to push the right buttons, get the response he wanted out of them.

Finishing up his writing Petyr closed his laptop, placing it next to him and breathed in. This was it.  
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began, rather warily, “but there never seemed to be a right time to do so,” he quirked an eyebrow at himself, an odd feeling too similar to _uncertainty_ filling his mind.

“Yes?”

“I know that for you, there might not be any reason to bring this up again, and I know you’ve talked to Ros about it,” Petyr said, pausing, considering the fact that he had already tried to make her talk about it earlier, and yet he hadn’t succeeded in making her tell him what he still didn’t know.

He hated not knowing.

Looking at her he continued: “if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll respect that,” it was difficult, saying it, knowing that the reply she might give him would not be the one he wanted to hear, “but if you refrain from telling me because you believe that I wouldn’t want to know, you’re wrong. I do, I care and I’d like to know what happened.”

It was true, wasn’t it? Knowledge is power. That was all there was to it. He needed to know, he needed the information to play his role _better_ to stay a few steps ahead of everyone else. He _craved_ knowledge like he craved her. It had nothing to do with _caring_ if he was completely honest. Of course it wasn’t.

“What happened with what?” she asked, not even trying to hide the fact that she knew _exactly_ what he was asking about.

It was dangerous waters, playing the game with Sansa Stark.

“-with _him_ ,” Petyr finished, studying her face for any indication of her true feelings about it.

Sansa closed her book, the movement making a soft thudding noise in the minimalistic room. She looked around, as if avoiding to meet his eyes. She was quiet for a moment, eyelids blinking. Possibly she had found herself at loss at words.

When she finally did talk, Petyr released a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding in.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he answered truthfully.  
“Ask me, and I’ll answer.”

It was all he wanted, everything he dreamed of, contained in one sentence.

“When your updates stopped - on your social media accounts, why, what happened?” he started, there was so much he wanted to know, but he had to begin somewhere and hopefully this would have her telling him about all of it, not leaving any details out.

Sansa paused again before replying: “he kept me uncommunicated.”

This wasn’t a surprise. Rather, this was expected. It was the only reasonable explanation.

“You stopped going to meetings, your Party’s. Was that due to something he did as well?” Petyr continued, words drawn out, voice soft and unhurried.  
“Yes… he wouldn’t allow me out of the house.”

“What were you allowed to do?”

“Nothing.”

Not knowing what the better response would be Petyr said what first came to mind: “Sansa, sweetli-,” he started but was cut off before he could finish his sentence, not even knowing himself what it might have been.  
“He kept me there as if I was some kind of… slave,” Sansa interrupted, words suddenly rushing out of her, as if saying it all in a fast and efficient speed would make it somewhat easier to say, “He made sure I’d eat, but the feeling of being at his total disposal…” Sansa stared at nothing, as if the images might as well be flashing by her eyes at this very minute - but her voice was still impossibly steady, “he used me, of course, as he pleased, as many times and however he pleased.”

“I can’t imag-,” Petyr started again, but Sansa’s voice carried over him once again.

“He was rough, every time. A brute. He never hit me in the face, he needed my face when there were social gatherings. I was his trophy. Something to brag about,” Sansa paused again, but this time tears welled up from her eyes, spilling over although her voice finally breaking, “and then the real nightmares began. There is not a single place on my body that he treated with care. He forced me to do things I didn’t think anyone was capable of doing - much less enjoy… You remember that deal Bolx Banks got from that Armenian Trust?” Sansa paused, once again this time raising her head to look at Petyr and he nodded the once, not daring to interrupt her again, “he included me as part of the signing. Half of the committee wanted to know ‘ _what it was like to be with a british lady_ ’. Each of them did what they wanted, sometimes it was more than one. Oh, and did you know Theon was there too? He was right there, at his home - at _our_ ‘home’, and he didn’t lift a hand to help me. I thought we were family. I was so alone.”

Silence was spreading over them and Petyr didn’t know how to break it, or if he should be breaking it. Instead he waited for Sansa to take initiative. Eventually she did, her voice barely a whisper.

“Did you know,” Sansa let out a nervous laughter, “I forgot to tell you. He branded me. On our wedding night,” she took a deep breath, as if trying to gather up all her courage to confess the reality of the next horrid experience, “he grabbed a knife, told me not to move, otherwise he’d taken my eyes out, and he wrote an ‘R’ on the back of my neck,” the tears were coming down hard now and even so she had her eyes locked on Petyr’s, “a fucking ‘R’.”

When the quiet was starting to settle down between them again, Petyr felt the need to break in, push through, let her know that he would be tearing his fucking head off his very body if he ever had to see him again - or rather, he would do much, much worse than that.

“Sansa-”

“Don’t-, please don’t say ‘it’s not your fault’. I’m sick and tired of hearing the same things over and over again. I know it was my fault. I should have tried to run. I had many chances to do so, but I was more afraid of the consequences than trying. I never dared to try,” she took a deep, shaky breath before continuing again, “I should have tried.”

His plans had to wait - there would come a time for that as well.

“Easier said than done,” Petyr said, looking back at her, “say that you did indeed try, to run or to continue to fight against him, what do you think would have been different? He would have come after you. Fear might as well be what have kept you alive, kept you from doing reckless things. You did escape anyway, eventually,” it was Petyr’s time to pause, for a moment trapped by the very thing that had been troubling him since he had first realised, first known that something had gone terribly wrong: _you did escape - and without my help_.

It was a dangerous thought, one he had to leave behind as soon as he possibly could.

“You were brave, and you still are. Brave people are afraid, or else it wouldn’t be bravery. You do something even though it’s difficult, but it takes time to make a decision, to give something a try even when the odds are against you.”

His words earned him a smile and it all felt worth it, any doubt leaving him in an instance.

“Thank you, Petyr.”

He breathed in, returning her smile.

“How did you do it? How did you escape?”

“Well…” Sansa said, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, “maybe we can take that another time?”

Petyr nodded.

“Of course, sweetling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and hopefully you've liked this chapter! Sorry it has taken so long for us to update, from now on I'll be updating and writing this fic alone since @baedangillen isn't able to continue writing any longer. All of Sansa's parts in the dialoges are written by baedangillen though (we were able to do a lot of the work months ago) and I've written as Petyr as per usual. For the first time I've taken on the role of writing as Sansa through her part as well and I hope it was alright even though I can't capture the same feeling and essence of her as baedangillen could. I want to thank her so much for working on this fic with me and for letting me finish it alone. I will try to write the whole of it, since there aren't that many chapters left planned for the story. If you've read this fic and followed us from the beginning I thank you so much for staying with us even though the long break of no updates, and thank you to anyone who is a later joiner to this amazing yet awful ship. I hope you like our modern interpretation of them!


	12. A fitful sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Fire! I finished another chapter in one day, and before the previous update it was literally 7 months since the one before that. Basically I owe it all to my past self and my writing companion @baedangillen on tumblr, who both wrote all of the last chapter's and almost all of this one's dialoges back in the days when we had less to do and this ship was still alive and thriving. I hope there still is someone who is enjoying these characters and our story, and I completely owe so much to @baedangillen. This chapter is filled with a lot of flashbacks as well, a lot of angst but the recoveries for the both of them are coming! Please take care of yourselves. Chapter contains a lot of smut, again.

_Chapter 12:_   **A FITFUL SLEEP**.

* * *

**PETYR**

The wind was hard against his face, it whipped and dashed him over and over. He tried taking a deep breath but the wind clawing at him made it difficult, or was it really the wind? Petyr wasn’t sure.  
“Hey,” a soft voice behind him but Petyr didn’t turn around.  
He kept his gaze in the horizon. Petyr suspected a firm hand on his shoulder, and a stern voice telling him to get back to reality, but it never came. He kept staring into the distance and out the Irish sea as the tears threatened to come back and he swallowed and turned. Petyr wasn’t sure for how long he had stood there but the man who waited for him didn’t complain, he didn’t even seem keen to get back and take Petyr back home. Home? Petyr felt like laughing. What was even home anymore? A strange place with strange people, strange voices and strange habits? A small weird room with nothing more than a small unfamiliar bed beside a window. That was what Petyr would be coming home to.  
He had arrived at the Tullys the week before. Petyr had feared they would either try to tiptoe around him because of his past or they would be sticking their noses in all of his businesses - but it seemed he was wrong. The Tullys lives seemed to roar on as if nothing had happened, as if the boy that arrived that very same day had never taken a step inside their house. The other kids didn’t bother him, they played among themselves and their father went to work and got back to make dinner and everything seemed very normal.  
Petyr looked at the man behind the wheel before stepping out of the car.  
“Thanks,” he said, unsure.  
They hadn’t exchanged any words during the drive.  
“Anytime,” Brynden replied.  
He was the foster father’s younger brother.  
“I’ll see you soon.”  
Petyr just nodded in reply as he drove away again and Petyr turned to the door to knock but out stormed a redheaded girl with a lovely shade of pink on her cheeks.  
“Oh, hi Petyr,” she said laughing.  
“Hi,” he replied stupidly.

Petyr noticed how she was trying to let go of whatever thought she had been holding on to.  
“Father’s making us dinner, care to join us?”  
As if I have a choice, Petyr thought, but he didn’t say it. He knew the girl was trying to be nice.  
He followed her inside.

Petyr smiled at the memory. That was all so long ago now, so long it ago it might as well not matter anymore - and yet. Wasn’t that exactly why he’d done anything at all? All because of one woman - oh, no he wasn’t that romantic, but the thought held some truth.

But it wasn’t only one woman anymore though, was it? When did it change? When had it changed? When did everything start to surround Sansa Stark?

 

* * *

**OLYVAR**

It was different, after the incident at the bottom floor things had gone rather stiff - worst case scenario that was all Olyvar’s doing. Littlefinger seemed to be not the least bit different. Although there was something, something that had changed in the air - at least around him, himself.

Even the other seemed to notice it. Ros was the first to make a comment on it.

“It’s not good, that what you’re doing,” she said, pressing her arm lightly against his whilst making herself a cup of tea - possibly sprinkled with something stronger.

They weren’t supposed to take anything, it could cloud their judgement but knowing Ros she did as she pleased. Olyvar might have been the boss of their small crew but Ros was more like the twisted man than he was.

He had it bad, he was aware. His mind occupied with thoughts of the redheaded girl, his crotch never forgetting the drawl of the man of pepper and salt.

He was vaguely aware that there might be consequences. Consequences for his careless behaviour. It wasn’t suitable, not for a man like him.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” he had replied, busying himself with making another cup for himself.

“You don’t have to pretend with me. They might not know,” Ros continued, and Olyvar bit his lip, just the notion of the others in their small team knowing of his inappropriate feelings made him disgusted - possibly with himself, “they still don’t know it was your doing, you know. Putting the bird at risk like that,” she tutted, more to herself - but Olyvar knew better.

“You don’t know everything either,” he replied, trying for the sleek voice Littlefinger used when he thought himself so above all and everything else.

Ros shook her head lightly.

“Don’t think I don’t know you, we might keep secrets from each other as well, and if I have to I would turn my back towards you as well - if he’d ask me to. But so would you. But don’t think that working around you, day and night for the better part of my life hasn’t had me knowing how you function in each and every situation, because oh, I do, I’ve seen you.”

“You’re treading on dangerous waters, my friend.”

“So now, knowing you are quite upset with _our_ dear old friend,” she continued.

Olyvar was sure a crease had developed between his eyebrows, even though he had worked hard on not giving anything away by facial features. Hopefully this was what he had intended to do, his mask was definitely not slipping. He wouldn’t have sunk that low. Not yet.

“I’m listening,” he said, warily.

“There’s something you need to know,” Ros said, her stance and posture all too casual for the meaning of her words, “there’s a plan.”

“There’s always a plan when it comes to Littlefinger.”

“Oh, but there is something else. Something I think you might be of interest in.”

“What if I report you, what if I call for him right this instance.”

“But I know you wouldn’t, because you see, there’s consequences, and we can help each other out a bit. I got your back if you got mine,” she continued.

He wasn’t sure what he was hearing. If Littlefinger knew about this, he could have them both sacked this very minute - or rather he wouldn’t have them sacked. Considering all the inside knowledge they were both sitting on. A much more permanent fate would lie in front of them. It was simply out of question, ever quitting this job - so much he had made sure of.

“I’ll talk to him, get you out of trouble for the meanwhile.”

“Right…” Olyvar replied, quickly trying to contemplate his options.

There would be consequences if Ros didn’t help him out, if he were to alone try to face whatever was coming for him. His permanent end might as well come sooner rather than later. He hadn’t denied anything, instead he had admitted of being in love with a woman out of his league. She had never been an option, she was out of his reach.

But if Ros stepped in, giving Littlefinger a thing or two to think about, he might even reach another conclusion. It was truly only someone like Ros who could help him out in this situation of his. Someone who otherwise was forced to turn her back at him if ever the circumstances occurred. She could create an explanation Littlefinger would never have believed if he were the one to tell it.

Ros was looking at him, studying his face.

“Deal,” he said, almost surprised to find his voice as steady as it were.

The two of them plotting something that was far out of their usual position, something that wasn’t allowed, that was never to speak of. Right here, inside Littlefinger’s own walls and security locks.

This could only end one way.

“There has been someone watching us,” Ros’ eyes were intent on his.

“Who?”

“Brienne Tarth, and there’s something else you need to know.”

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

It was dark when she woke, her nightdress uncomfortably sticking to her body. She trembled, shivering even though she had been sweating. It was a nightmare, only a nightmare. It wasn’t real.

The wind made the trees rustle outside her window. Sansa put her feet on the cold floor, tiptoeing towards her bedroom door and walked out the hallway. Was it alright if she went to Petyr? It should be, shouldn’t it. Considering how intimate they had been not very long ago. Deciding against knocking she swallowed. He wouldn’t mind, would he? She didn’t want to turn back towards her own bed again, knowing she would only lay there alone, the shadows of her nightmare still haunting her.

Biting her lip she opened the door to his room, it was as dark as in her own, possibly somehow darker still. She made her way towards his bed and crawled under the soft covers.

Petyr stirred beside her, in a way she had hoped not to wake her, but on the other hand she wanted nothing but to feel less alone with the memories still fresh in her mind.

His back was facing her. He seemed only half conscious as he twisted, turning his face towards her.

“Sansa…?” his voice asked, heavy with sleep.  
“Petyr…” she replied, her voice louder than she had expected, she only hesitated for a moment before putting her arms around his waist, spooning him from behind, “please, I just need to feel someone with me, okay? Please.”

The body she was embracing went rigid for a split second, before he took her hand in his, as if preventing it from travelling any further than his sides, holding it in place. He slowly lift it to his face, brushing his lips over her knuckles, his breath coming out hot against them.

Sansa rested her face to the back of his neck and gave it a soft kiss at his hairline.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more like his usual self.

“No… I had a nightmare and it was horrible. I can't stand it anymore. I feel dirty, I feel like I can feel his touch. I don't want to feel like this,” she admitted, finally letting the tears stream down her face and hugged him tighter from behind, trying to focus on his firm body against hers, more real than the horrors that had woken her from her sleep.

“Come with me, I might have an idea…” he said, his voice low but gentle.

He gave her hand another kiss, pressing her fingers against him, before letting go. Petyr moved then, standing up from the bed with his back still facing Sansa he picked up another one of his typical, carefully folded shirts and put it on.

Sansa got up from the bed as well and went to stand beside Petyr. She crossed her arms waiting for him to get dressed.

He only continued, not stopping, choosing jet black trousers to go along the crispness of his shirt visible even in the darkness of his room. He only faced her after being fully dressed, his eyes studying her face.

“Come,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him.

Sansa followed, only half registering standing outside the bathroom.

Petyr opened the door for Sansa. The sink was located to the right, a mirror hanging above, the bathtub in the far end. The room was big, spacious, more than enough room for the both of them.

Petyr walked inside, looking back at Sansa before turning on the water, seeming to consider the temperature with his fingers.

Perhaps it was because it was in the middle of the night, perhaps because she was still feeling as though she was dreaming - but this was another kind of dream, an easy one. Simple, soft in the edges. She felt safe.

Without a single word said she shredded her clothes, letting them fall on the ground. She stood naked not even trying to hide herself. She was safe. She was alright. For the first time in a long time she didn’t feel anything but calm.

When the bath was ready Petyr turned around for the first time since having entered the bathroom. His eyes first lingering on her face, as if looking for signs, then slowly his gaze travelled down her neck, and then quickly back to her face again, an unreadable expression on his face. He nodded to her once. She took it as an invitation to get in.

Sansa walked past him and before she got in the bathtub she turned around to embrace him. She stood there. She wanted to show him how much this meant to her. She had noticed the way his gaze hadn’t travelled lower than her neckline, she felt grateful. Maybe this was why she had felt safe to begin with? It was different. With him.

She then turned her attention to the bathtub and got in slowly. The water was pleasant on her skin, an embrace warmer than Petyr’s but not hot enough to burn.

She brought her knees up to her chest, a sudden shyness taking over and hold them with her arms crossed. She then looked at Petyr.

Petyr hadn’t moved whilst Sansa got in the bath, only his eyes seemed to follow her movements. When she was inside, he sat down beside her.

“Do you trust me?” he said as if voicing the very thoughts in her own head.

Sansa only nodded in reply.

Petyr put his hands on her shoulders, slowly lowering her into the water, naturally wetting her hair along the way. He kept her still, holding her, leaning down over her, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel one hand being put gently underneath her head, to steady her, helping her to trust him, the other one reaching for a bottle. He opened it with one hand, his eyes still keen on Sansa.

She could feel the finger of his hand against her head touch the mark on her neck, she swallowed, looking into his eyes, waiting for a comment. But it didn’t come. He didn’t mention it, instead he said: “hold here,” showing her the shampoo bottle.

Sansa took it in her hands as Petyr held out a free hand underneath, letting her squeeze its contains into his hand. He then took the bottle from her, placing it on the side again. He steadied her head guiding her back to a sitting position. Petyr looked back at Sansa, and carefully placed his hands on her head, starting to massage the shampoo to her head. It was different. Having someone else do such a simple thing, such a private and intimate thing to oneself. His touch was light on her scalp, as if afraid his fingers might hurt her. He then picked up another bottle, putting some body wash into his hands. His eyes keen on her again he said: “can I touch you?”

“Yes,” she replied, not caring in what context the question was being asked.

She pressed her knees to her chest again.

Petyr put his hands on her shoulders.

“... Okay?”

She nodded and felt his hands pressing on her back, softly but firmly. Pety’s hands were washing every part of her back, starting from the shoulder blades and making their way downwards. Once he seemed satisfied with his work on her lower back he went all the way up to her neck again.

Sansa knew what was coming next. So she offered her right arm first, still not letting go of her knees with her left arm. She saw Petyr taking his absolute time, putting more soap into his hands, softly moving them on her, almost as if soothing her.

When he was done, she offered him her left arm. This time, Sansa didn't bring her right arm back knees, instead she let them fall, exposing herself yet without feeling exposed. She was safe.

He moved to her front very slowly, his eyes checking hers, possibly for any discomfort, whenever he wasn’t working on washing her, his hands were back up on her shoulders, but only just holding her.

When she didn’t give any signs of making him stop he continued, his hands moving along her sides, almost as if he was making sure not to brush her breasts on their way down. It made a warm feeling grow inside of her, warm in another way than the water surrounding her. She felt touched, and with more than Petyr’s hands on her.

Sansa searched his face - what for? She wasn’t sure. To see if she could spot the familiar desire she knew every man to possess. But Petyr seemed concentrated on his work.

It was different, so different. The knowledge that this man in front of her was making sure she was absolutely okay with everything he did, actively trying not to step over any comfort zones unless she permitted him to. It opened a way for her she hadn’t experienced before, to be the one in control, the one to initiate. Perhaps that was why she took his hands in her, moving her thumbs in circles over them she slowly put them on her own breasts. She kept her hands on his for a few seconds, wanting to tell him that it was okay. That she felt safe enough. That she trusted him.

Grey-green eyes studied her, sensing his insecurity to carry on so she put her hands on Petyr’s again and started moving his hands with hers, in a slow dance along her body, together they moved; a couple of hands moving upwards to wash her neck and the other one lowered to her stomach, wetting Petyr’s shirt clad arm to his elbow. As their hands moved in unison their eyes locked on each other’s.

She put her wet hands on each side of his face and brought her lips to his. Kissing him softly.

Sansa put her arms around his neck, pulling him to her as they let the kiss continue.

She could feel Petyr leaning into her touch, he tightens his grip around her, lifting her up, making her stand up as the water splashed noisily around them, dripping from her body and his clothes.

Sansa put her legs around his waist, slowly letting him put one hand on her back to steady her.

As if not having a care in the world whether they’d be ruining his his, causing a minor water damage Petyr moved, walking them out of the bathroom, lips still linked, only parting a few times to stop for air, checking that they weren’t walking into something.

Sansa felt her back lowered onto the soft duvets of a bed, looking hastily around she noted it was her room. But it didn’t matter so much, she wasn’t alone, she wouldn’t be hurt now.

She wanted this. She wanted to forget Ramsay’s touch and start remembering Petyr’s.

She tugged at his shirt. For a moment she almost recognised hesitation on his face, but only a heartbeat later was he helping her with the buttons, pushing himself out of the wet fabric, tongue still on hers and Sansa decided she must have only imagined the slight moment.

He laid down, and Sansa moved on top of him, thanking him silently for knowing what she wanted without her having to tell him so.

She lowered herself into him and began kissing his neck, soft quick kisses, but carefully placed. She wanted to map out his skin, to remember it more vividly than anything else, and proceeded her way down. Right when she reached the beginning of his collarbone she felt something different on her lips, the skin a different texture underneath her. She continued not giving it too much of importance. When she felt it continuing as she proceeded her way down she stopped. No. She had to know, and knowing Petyr she would never know had she asked.

In quick succession she reached the lamp sitting on her night table and turned it on. It didn’t take long for her eyes to adjust to the light. However it didn’t matter. There was a scar, marking his torso. The one she had thought was not much but a thin line now turned out to be a long, violent ride of bumps and ugly knitted skin, travelling all the way down to his navel.

“Oh my god…”

 

* * *

**PETYR**

Petyr stared at her with a blank expression on his face, he suddenly felt naked, more naked than she was even though he still had his trousers on, as if all his secrets had been laid bare in front of him, he dared not move, he dared not speak.  
It hurt, somehow, the look on Sansa’s face. As if she didn't dare to touch it.

“I’m sorry…” she started, as if she, a mere child could take the ugly reminder away from him, “ I didn’t know…”

Petyr made himself move, pushing himself backwards, to create space - from what? He wasn’t sure, he glanced around, cursing himself for having thrown the covers down the floor, with nothing else to use he put his arms awkwardly around himself. This hadn’t gone as planned.

“Hey…” Sansa tried, her hand reaching out to touch his arm.

It was only a soft touch when they reached him, not trying to pull them away. _As if I need support_ he thought to himself. Hadn’t it been her who had needed that? Wasn’t that why they were up in the middle of the night anyway?

“Hey…” she repeated, “come back to me.”

He studied her face for a moment, then averted his eyes, staring at nothing in particular.  
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry,” she said again.

Surely she wasn’t dumbstruck, Petyr thought dryly, cursing himself for even letting himself think it. It was stupid of him. How could he have let such emotions bottle up again? _A reminder of a weaker time_ his mind assisted him.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t matter.”

Sansa reached out for him, pressed their bodies hard together. When she moved to kiss him again he didn’t need more signs to get going - this, he knew how to handle. _This_ , was safe.

Lost in his need for her he let her hands do as they pleased, moving alongside his body. He continued pressing open mouthed kisses on her skin, wherever he could reach.  
Petyr groaned against her neck when he felt her taking him in her hand, he moved one of his hands from her hip and reached down between them, gently touching her close to her sex.

Sansa let out a small whimpering sound. She started to increase her speed. He moaned into her mouth, closing his eyes as his tongue stroke hers, carefully circling his fingers around her clit.  
“I want you,” she whispered in his ear, “I want you in me.”

He groaned when hearing her words.

“Say it again,” he said.

She stopped stroking him and Petyr had to fight the urge to make a weak sound of protest.

“I… want… you…. inside of me,” she repeated, her words drawling out the words in a delicate way, pausing to give him a hungry kiss after each word.

Petyr slipped a finger into her folds, gently touching her.

“You want me… here?” he teased her, voice low, barely a whisper.  
A loud moan came out of her, her hips started to move as if involuntarily. Her breathing began to pick up.

He wanted this to be good for her, to be different, different from what she had experienced so far, a pleasure she wanted, a touch that invaded her in a way she was comfortable with, something that wasn’t brute or violent.

Petyr felt her hands gripping him again, he pushed another finger inside to join the first.  
Sansa moved under him, around him, the touch of her was almost too much - so much of what he had wanted. It was all so close, just within his reach.

“Inside…” Sansa panted and Petyr hissed in reply, not managing to say anything.

He slipped out his fingers, guiding himself to take over where his fingers had just been, letting the tip rest at her entrance.  
“Ok… wait…” she said and Petyr almost gritted his teeth when resisting to push right into her, burying himself as deep as he could, “I need a second,” she continued.

Petyr looked at her, holding himself in place. He could feel her pulse moving quickly underneath her skin.

“Take your time,” he breathed, as he looked down between them and then up on her face again, “relax, sweetling, it’s just me.”

Sansa met his eyes. She took a deep breath and smiled.

“It’s you… yes...?”

He nodded, smiling faintly.

Then she moved, slowing letting him sink deeper into her, her wetness making it easy.

“Come here,” he said weakly, as if they weren’t linked already, struggling to keep from moving as he gestured for her to lay down on his chest.  
“Okay,” she whispered.

“Just breathe,” he told her, whispering in reply into her ear as he pulled out, just the slightest and pushed back in as slow as he could possibly manage.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

It was almost unreal, they way they fitted each other, the way Petyr fitted inside of her, dancing together, moving without pain.

Sansa wanted this, wanted it to be alright, to be good - and he was good, he took his time, searching her face all over again and again as if making sure he had read her correctly, not mistaking any signs for another than they were. His hands moving with his body, having her feel closer and closer to the edge she hadn’t been able to reach since… since a long time ago.

“I’m… I’m almost there,” she heard Petyr groan from underneath her.

He looked beautiful this way, his facade torn in a way she hadn’t seen him before. His eyes were shut tightly, his face expressing his desire. She made him feel that, and he made her feel all of this.

Their bodies were trembling, they were both close and Sansa was happy, happy that this man hadn’t only cared about his own pleasure, but continuing, seeming almost as if pushing himself to be able to make it until she had reached her point, her absolute peak. A strong urge surged through her. It was their first time together, this way, linked, and she wanted him to look at her. To see her. She wanted to let him know just how much it all meant to her, but his eyes were closed. It hurt her.

Why were his eyes closed? When she studied him she found it didn’t look as if he was so lost in himself that he wasn’t able to watch her, but rather as if he was hiding - hiding from what? What if he wasn’t enjoying it, what if he was only doing it for her? She fretted the truth. Sansa leaned down, pressing a kiss on his lips.

Petyr reaching down, rubbing her clit as he rammed into her hard.

Buried deep inside of her she could feel his release, even as he continued their rhythm. It was all it took for her, him moving, never ending until she was there as well, not letting go and not running away from her. As if he needed her to come as well - and so she did, letting out a sweet long moan. She felt him slightly decreasing the rhythm until he slowly pulled himself out. They were both panting, sweating, the smell of sex clearly present, invading the room. His face was buried in the curve of her neck and she hugged him tight. She felt his body there, ever present, but somehow it still bothered her. His eyes, closed.

It made a thought stir inside of her, a recognition of something she knew all too well. That disconnection from the world, to hide oneself from what was happening. She had wanted to do the same, had _done_ the same, pretending that it was all happening to someone else. Only a body, not fully real, not entirely there. She had used it to protect herself.

“Hey… are you ok?” she whispered in his ear.

She heard him panting and felt his breath on her neck.

 

* * *

**PETYR**

He was still catching his breath, his eyebrows furrowing against her cheek.

“Shit… I’m sorry,” he managed.

Sansa was caressing his back with the tip of her fingers.

“For what?”

“Uh… I didn’t pull out in time.”  
“Oh… that…. it’s okay. I can take a pill. Don’t worry about that,” she said as she kissed his nose, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Stop asking, alright?” Petyr took a deep breath, it would have been quite sweet to have a fag, maybe a cup of coffee, “what about you, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay…” she replied, her body heat leaving his and Petyr opened his eyes, watching as she sat up, “you know I was just asking because you seemed a bit off… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

That got his attention.

“ _”I seemed a bit off”_ ? No, tell me, I want to hear it.”  
“Well yeah, you seemed like you weren’t here. With me. You didn’t even look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” he was just about to blurt _come again_ but that wouldn’t have been appropriate, “what?”

“Well… we were making love! I kind of wanted to- I wanted you to look at me… I’ve never done it like this before and I wanted it to be special.”

Petyr turned towards her, propping himself on his elbows.

“It’s just sex, Sansa, and I’m looking at you now,” he said but Sansa only stared at him for a long moment.

“Just sex…” she repeated when she finally spoke, “ _just sex_ … well it’s not _just sex_ for me. You know? I thought I was never going to forget this night? You were actually very sweet and all, but now I wish this had never happened!”

“You wish it never happened? I do remember you wanting this, I’ve done more than what most men would do in my situation, I’ve listened to you, let you take things in your own time, waiting until you were ready?!”

Her face looked incredulous.

“You really are something Petyr Baelish. _“I didn’t hear you complain or stop me from doing it!”_ And what? I’m supposed to thank you? For fucking acting like all men should? You want that? Okay. Thank you Mr. Baelish. I am so very grateful for allowing me to enjoy something that has kept me up all these nights of my fucking miserable life. Thank you.”

That wasn’t truly what he had meant, although it had slipped his tongue. He should have been more careful, but somehow it was difficult. Her yelling at him right after intercourse. It was difficult to take any of it seriously. She had wanted him, her body had wanted him, taking him in wetly and easily.

“Fuck, Sansa, don’t take it so seriously, it’s just _sex_ , it’s nothing more, nothing less. And I’ve helped you reclaim your sexuality-” he was cut short, occupied by watching as Sansa moved out of his grasp, searching the bed, the floor.

She found a pair of soft looking trousers and put them on, her face looked all wound up, scowling. He didn’t know if she looked disgusted, of him, or of her state of being - naked - in front of him (which would have been silly considering what they had just done).

“It’s not just sex Baelish!” she shouted, louder than he was expecting, “I am not a _fucking_ animal! I am no one’s _fucking_ animal ready for anyone to have a go at whenever they please! _“Reclaim my sexuality”_ …” she gave out a short laugh, Petyr was sure it sounded disappointed, “by doing what? Rubbing and sucking? Fuck you Baelish. This was supposed to be a night to remember and you fucking ruined it!”

This was getting out of hand, or rather more silly by the minute.

“Come back, Sansa, grow up and don’t be so naive, let us just enjoy the moment, okay? We had sex, you liked it, I liked it. It was _good_. Come back here,” he said, gesturing towards the spot she had only just left on the bed beside him.

He released a breath when she stepped towards the bed, but her face hadn’t softened, not yet, but it would, he was sure.

Instead of laying down though, or pressing a kiss on his cheek he felt rather than saw her hand slapping him hard across his face.

God. That woman. Would she be the end of him?

“Was that naive enough for you?” she asked, voice ever as harsh as the look on her face.

Being strong, using force had never been the way of Petyr Baelish. Words had always been what he had been best at, and words he had learnt had been his way to move his players, to make them do what he wanted. He didn’t need anything else. A well considered sentence could change everything.

This had been no exception.

Only, it hadn’t gone half so much as he had planned.

 

* * *

**SANSA**

It all seemed to be circling, over and over, inside her head, inside the walls that were crowding her. The thoughts were intruding, washing over her like waves, never ending, never giving up.

Sansa was on her bed, the door closed. She needed time. Why had it spiraled out like that? Was it her? It had all gone so perfectly until something had snapped. A part of her wanted to blame Petyr, knowingly pointed at him. It’s his fault! But it wasn’t - was it? It was no one’s but her own. It was always her, wasn’t it? Either she fell apart, having another flashback, another vision of forcing hands touching her, of eyes staring at her like a predator, of anxiety creeping on her, taking over, making her afraid. Of what? Of touch, of being together, experiencing something with someone else. Why was it that the only time it had worked out, the only time she had been able to enjoy herself had been when she hadn’t needed to give anything back? Only take, and take - all for herself. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t what a healthy relationship should be like. But then, when was the last time she had found herself in a healthy relationship, had she ever experienced one?

Sansa pushed the thoughts aside, falling into a fitful sleep.

***

Sansa woke the next morning, still tired but she knew what she needed. Whatever happened, she would have to keep it together, if not for herself for her Party, for her country. She would have to talk to Brienne again, see if she had gotten any new information for her, if her request about Jaime Lannister had worked out. She didn’t need Petyr Baelish to win, if he couldn’t understand. She would do it herself. She didn’t need another man telling her what to do. She was the Strongest Woman In England, if she couldn’t handle it herself - than who could?

 

* * *

**PETYR**

It was with confusion he stepped inside her room, taking in the view before him: Sansa moving quickly, rapidly and forcibly - as if upset with the very items in her hands - throwing clothes out of her closet, closing the door harshly, the sound echoing inside the room even though the soft fabrics inside were muffling it, things thrown in a mess on top of her bed.

“Sansa, what are you doing?” Petyr asked, his voice careful.

Sansa though, seemed to be ignoring him, only continuing to take out clothes, opening and closing the closet behind her as if only to make as much noise as possible.

“Are you listening to me?” he tried again.

“Where do you keep the bags around here?” Sansa said, the words pushed out through gritted teeth.

“Bags? For what purpose?”

“Yes Petyr bags, for packing. Can’t you see it?”

“I’m not blind. But why?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore. That’s why. I don’t need you anymore.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“You just… continue being… the biggest arrogant I’ve ever bloody met. _Where are the bags_?!”

“I don’t have any,” he said flatly, tracing her with his eyes, not daring to move.

Afraid of what? He wasn’t sure.

“Are you telling me… that when you go to whatever you’re doing out of the country… that you never take anything with you? You expect me to believe you?”

“Sansa… have you thought this through?”

That made her stop, visibly taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

“Petyr,” she begun and he dreaded the continuing of that sentence, “I can’t continue this facade, okay? I need to be on my own. I need to be out there. I’ve already been through this sort of confinement and it nearly ended me. I promised myself I would never allow myself to go through something like it ever again. If you care about me, let me go.”

“Don’t compare me to him.”

If he had been a lesser man, Petyr thought bitterly, he would be crying when saying that. If he had been different, and believing, he had been thanking God he wasn’t.

“Oh gee, hm… let me think, do you allow me to go out on my own?”

“You know just as well as me what happened last time that happened, I needn’t remind you.”

“Oh and you think that wouldn’t have happened with you around? No, of course not, because you wouldn’t have allowed me to go outside! Either way, I would have stayed in, just like he always did, for him to play with. A toy he could poke around every now and then. Something to have his way with… _It’s just sex_ , you said… he often said that was well did you know that? So I honestly see no difference between you and _him._ ”

That, for a man not being Petyr Baelish, would definitely have hurt. Sometimes he was happy he had Littlefinger to make sure everything was still working as it should. This wasn’t difficult, it wasn’t more difficult than killing of all the people he had had to, drugging who ever needn’t to be drugged, torturing whoever needed to be tortured. Yet it took him some time to find his voice, maybe he was about to catch a cold.

“Sansa, I would never do what he did to you,” he managed, just barely being able to make his voice sound as flat as before.

“Oh, but you did Petyr, you already did, by calling it _just sex_. You have no idea who difficult it has been for me. How ashamed and guilty I’ve felt since it happened. You have no idea what it feels like,” Sansa’s words hit hard, and Littlefinger wavered for a moment, for a slight second Petyr could feel her words stinging, making their way towards whatever he thought might be his heart, to memories rewritten, to experiences repressed, “how could you know?,” Sansa continued, “someone who is as cold and incapable of empathy as you, how could you know what it feels like to be undiminished like that?”

Oh, how could I know? Petyr sang inside of him.

Littlefinger would have none of it.

“I’ve never done anything against your will,” he said in his stead, “I would never do that to you. Don’t you think I _have_ been considerate regarding your needs and limitations though? I’ve cared for you, listened and watched for any signs of hesitation or distress because the marks after experiences like yours are burns on your skin and they can heal but don’t think that I don’t know how very real and visible they are, always threatening to show and compromise us, so don’t go and modify your memories to your liking because I am not that, I am not him,” but that, was not very Littlefinger - was it? That was Petyr talking. Maybe it had been Petyr all along.

“Us? What do you mean by us?”

“Did I say that? A poor choice of words, I assure you.”

“No. I know perfectly well you always weigh and measure, fucking calculate your words before saying them. What did you mean by that?”

“I’m flattered that you think me so in control, Sansa, but even I make mistakes,” Littlefinger gave a short laugh.

Sansa stared at him, a silence stretching out between them that Littlefinger didn’t like.

“You wouldn’t just say that if you didn’t know…” she trailed off.

“Didn’t know? What?” Littlefinger countered, a smirk evident in his voice.

“Petyr… oh my God...” and Petyr could tell when Sansa’s face dropped, when realisation hit her.

“No, you started this. _If I didn’t know_ , what?!” although he hadn’t planned for it Petyr heard his voice raising.

“You described exactly what it feels like because you know, don’t you? You know how it feels as well?”

A laugh was trying to make its way up through his throat, it started slowly, in short huffs it made its way out to the open air surrounding them.

“Yeah,” he said the laugh still on his lips, “what if I do know? What difference does it make really?”

He didn’t know what was worse, the conversation as a whole, Sansa realising, knowing, the _pity_ he could see in forms of tears in the corner of her eyes. As if she was relieved by what she had just heard, what she had just made out of their interaction.

“It makes a world of difference,” she said, her voice too soft her his edges.

“Because all of a sudden I _am_ empathic? Don’t be so simple, Sansa.”

She didn’t seem to care, only taking a few steps closer to him. For once Petyr didn’t want her close.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said, moving her hand up towards his face, as if wanting to caress him.

Petyr closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, getting his control back. He couldn’t push her away, he wouldn’t use violence against her. He wouldn’t be _him_ , he wouldn’t be Ramsay.

“Petyr,” with only his name on his lips, the very name he had asked her so many times to use, she gently put her hands on his face, her thumbs firm on his cheekbones.

“It’s _just sex_ to me because… this,” he made a vague gesture at them, “ _this_ , is not the same,” he took a deep breath, “this is different.”

“I know it is,” her hands moved down to rest on his neck, “you should have told me.”

“And told you what?” Petyr opened his eyes, but not daring to meet hers, “that the woman I married was the one who took advantage of me 34 years ago? Yeah, right…”

“Yes, you should have. This changes everything, like it or not…” her eyes were intent, locked with his, “Lysa did that? How could you marry her?”

Petyr almost wanted to laugh again, but didn’t. Couldn’t. As if he was too weak to make the effort. Too tired. Maybe he just didn’t want it enough. He probably could. He wasn’t weak. Weak was beneath him.

“I had to, it was the best way to secure my position in Dublin,” he was quiet for a moment, considering how much was necessary to share with her, “and the fastest way to get you out of London and back to safety, or well, so I thought. I didn’t quite consider the threat Lysa saw in you,” and just like that a short, dry laugh made its way out.

It wasn’t difficult. It was easy. _At least I’m not too weak yet_ he thought dryly.

“She was clearly a disturbed woman…” Sansa said, taking a pause as if to consider what best to say next, “but Petyr, 34 years ago… you were just a boy!”

He laughed, again, “a boy who should have grown up ages ago,” he smiled, another one of those smiles he was sure never met his eyes.

“Still… she had no right to do that to you… you both hid it so well. She was madly in love with you, she often told me, she couldn’t see herself living if it wasn’t by your side. If only I’d known what she did to you… I would have pushed her myself.”

“Oh, she truly was, wasn’t she? She never saw it like that anyway, and if you’d asked me a couple of years ago I would have felt the same,” he looked away, not able to meet her eyes any longer, “I took pride in that,” Petyr admitted, “I thought I had been with both of them when actually it was all just Lysa. I didn’t learn until much later that I had gotten her pregnant. Must have meant I did enjoy myself, hm?”

“No, hey… just because you got her pregnant doesn’t mean you enjoyed it. Bodies react to stimulation, even when we don’t want them to. Okay? Look at me. You did nothing wrong. She did. Not only were you a boy, and I don’t know how it happened, however it happened, it’s on her. Okay?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Was it to escape? Was it because he wanted her? Because he needed her?

“You better,” Sansa replied, her voice soft, a smile small but genuine.

Petyr cupped her face in his hands and leaned in and pressed a closed mouth kiss on her lips, trying to make it as soft as she was towards him.

He could feel her hands move from his neck down to his waist to rest there instead, not doing anything else to move or change their dynamics.

“Petyr… you should try to sleep a bit?”

He stared at her, that wonderous of a woman.

“If you promise you won’t leave while I sleep?”

Sansa gave out a laugh, beautiful in the aftermath of their changed words.

“What?” she asked.

“No, but I’m serious, Sansa. I won’t stop you if that’s what you want but, just, don’t leave tonight?”

“Petyr, I was joking. Of course I’ll stay.”

“I mean that, Sansa, I will not force you to stay. I would never do what he’s done to you.”  
“I won’t leave. I need you with me… and after tonight, I think you might need me as well.”

They laid down together, softly curling in on each other on top of her duvets.

Was that me - or was it her? he wondered. Was it I who manipulated the situation to my advantage, not being able to see her go, or was it her, that by her kindness is making me… what did she make him? What was she reducing him to? A lesser man.

If this is, what it was like to be a lesser man, Petyr thought, Sansa’s arms safely around him, I might even be able to get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for finishing yet another chapter, I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far, and I'm sorry that I'm walking this road alone this time, so if any changes on Sansa's part has been made it's all about my interpretation possibly differing slightly from my pal's vision. I have kept everything baedangillen wrote of Sansa's lines in the dialoges and her actions. Otherwise I'm standing for the rest of the characters, and I hope they are somewhat in line of what you're used to - Olyvar is slightly out of line though (all puns intended). Also wanted to add that the last chapter's smut was the first time either of us wrote that kind of section and hopefully it has been alright. There's a lot of back and forth, but considering which character's we're dealing with and their pasts we both argued it was necessary for the development of a more healthy relationship (their relationship is not, as I would say, healthy). The emotional plot is on going, and soon the action will add to the drama. Stay put!


	13. Happily ever after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (First off: no, this is not the last chapter).  
> Oh, and guess what, I managed to find time to finish a third chapter? Posting on the third day in a row? I'm not so sure I'll be able to update tomorrow already but I hope to be able to finish this fic within - at most - a few weeks. There's only about 2 chapters or so left now and I hope you're enjoying it so far. Another warning, no graphic descriptions but as ever, take care of yourselves.

_Chapter 13:_   **HAPPILY EVER AFTER.**

* * *

 

**SANSA**

Sansa wasn’t sure when it had started, in a way she wanted to tell herself that it was her idea all along - but another part of her wanted to disagree, point its finger at the man who were spending a lot of time by her side lately, saying that it was his idea all along; that she shouldn't trust him.

He might make her feel safe, he might be the one person who she wanted, and who treated her with respect. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, the way their conversation had quickly moved to something… something she wasn’t all too sure about. She knew she wanted to do something about it, but was this really the answer?

Her conversations with Ros had definitely helped, and although she wasn’t sure if her nightmares had gotten better because Petyr was spending more of his nights around her room or if they were thanks to her talks - it had changed, regardless. Things had started to change, and even though she hated to admit it, it was true, what he had said, about her winning it back, claiming her own sexuality again. Because it was different with Petyr, everything was different with him, and for once, she felt proud of her body, of herself when facing even the most intimate of situations. It was still difficult at times, she still had flashbacks, the horrors reminding her every so often but there was an undeniable difference, and knowing she wasn’t alone in this, knowing Petyr had experienced something of similar kind did made it easier. They healed each other, she was sure of it. Together they opened up parts of themselves they had shut against the rest of the world. If only to the other. There was someone, someone who saw them for everything they were.

“I want you to stay with me,” maybe that was how it had started, it was Petyr raising it, those words which she had told him only a few days before.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” she had replied, and he had tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Perhaps that was how they had started to talk about him. The other man, whom she hated to speak of. The one responsible for her hurt, for her pain. For everything she knew she didn’t- that no one deserved.

She had said so, and a tiny voice in her mind wanted to remind her that maybe that was exactly what Petyr had wanted, it was such a Baelish move, to trigger something in her own head. Planting something for him to water. To grow into something of its own, but something he could have total control over. But she was no puppet of Petyr Baelish. She wasn’t a puppet of anyone. It was her decision to stay at his place, she could leave if she ever wanted to. Only, well, it wasn’t safe to do so, not yet at least. Not with _him_ still looking for her. Not when the public still thought her marriage to be a happily ever after. Oh, how wrong they were.

“What if they knew,” she had said, half joking, half wishing it true.

“What if you told them,” he had replied, a smile on his face, one of those rare ones that reached his eyes.

She had sat up, not leaning against his chest any longer, studying his face.

“But that’s not possible,” she had said.

“Isn’t it?” he countered.

The man who made the impossible possible.

“How?” she prompted.

Only a question, only a single word and it had all been put to motion.

Standing here, the camera waiting in front of her Sansa wondered if it had really been the right choice. If perhaps it wasn’t all just big mistake.

Yes, she was the only remaining daughter of Ned Stark, yes she was the leader of her Party, and even though she sometimes doubted herself she didn’t doubt her vision, her morals, yes, she saw herself fit to lead.

Possibly because of that she wondered if it had been a good decision after all. The people around her were counting down, the broadcasting was soon to begin - and just like that; it was too late to back away.

“Miss Stark, it is a great pleasure to have you here,” the interviewer begun, her hands clasped in front of her, “deciding to come forth and speak of incidents that has been out of the light of the public for several months.”

“Thank you,” Sansa replied, leaning back in the chair she was seated on.

Her dress was black, not one which she might have chosen herself, the cut all too formal, a bit too impersonal, but Petyr had insisted it a good choice, Olyvar nodding awkwardly behind him in approval.

It hadn’t been the same, not with any of them except Petyr since the car incident so to speak, another of those _incidents_ which was not spoken about in the eye of the public.

“I’m sure this is a very stressful situation,” the interviewer continued, “as we know it up to this moment, your marriage with Mr. Ramsay Bolton,” Sansa repressed a shiver upon hearing his name, “Chief Executive Officer of Bolx Banks has been nothing but-”

“A happily ever after,” Sansa finished.

The interviewer nodded seriously, her facial feature almost sadder than what Sansa was sure she herself was portraying, and surely she if someone was allowed such an expression?

“But it didn’t quite go as planned?”

“No.”

“Can you tell us what happened?”

“I was a victim of sexual assault,” Sansa said, for the first time being able to raise it aloud, mention it somewhere that wasn’t in the quiet of her mind, of her room, of Petyr’s safe walls and Ros’ kind and thoughtful words, “I was a prisoner, locked up in my own house. Um,” Sansa continued, “in the beginning he seemed very sweet, he does,” she cleared her throat, it was difficult, saying it, but Petyr had specifically advised her to mention it, to add accuracy and something that showed she wasn’t all too biased about the whole things (as if she wasn’t), even though everything that had happened, “he is, very charming when he puts that side on. I thought we were made for each other. But the facade didn’t last very long. Not towards me.”

“For how long did this continue for?”

“I was imprisoned for three months,” Sansa said, her voice trembling only the slightest, surprised she hadn’t passed out or had another anxiety attack yet.

“Can you tell us how you escaped?”

And so she told her, the interviewer, the cameraman, the crew, and the entire United Kingdom that might be watching as the leader of the Labour Party told the story of how she had been imprisoned, the impossible happening within closed doors, the way she had escaped - she didn’t mention the details, she didn’t mention Theon, she didn’t tell the detailed, brutal story of exactly _how_ inhuman Ramsay Bolton had been, and was - but she told about how Jeyne Poole had been the first one she had called after having been able to run away. She didn’t mention Petyr. He had told her she couldn’t. It was too dangerous. There were only a few handful of people who might be suspecting his interest in her, he had said, and those few were in his control. _In is power_ Sansa thought instead, but pushed the thought away. He was different, different from Ramsay, and most importantly, she felt different around him.

Slipping that Petyr had kept her safe all this time would mean that Ramsay might be able to pick up the threads, realising that her care was in Petyr’s hands. Even with their security, there was a gamble, and Sansa might be putting herself in danger, or so Olyvar had provided behind Petyr, his face unreadable. But Sansa trusted Olyvar, no matter what Petyr said, and it seemed Petyr trusted him enough to stay in his inner circle anyway.

Sansa hadn’t talked to Jeyne in several years, back in a time when it had all been different, when her family had still been intact. It was ages ago.

“Can we get her on the phone?” the interviewer asked - and there she was, Jeyne’s voice flowing into the room where they were seated, security guards surrounding them, and she confirmed Sansa’s story.

Telling them about how frightened she had been for Sansa, her childhood friend, and on the telephone the two of them sounded much closer than Sansa remembered them ever being - but after the interview was over and she was back, safely tucked under the covers in her own room, in _Petyr’s_ flat, Petyr told her it had all played out fortunately to their advantage. Jeyne Poole was the factor that made her story believable, he had said, the proof that would tip the public over. Only leaving a handful still doubting her.

“We’ll have to reach out to the CEO for a comment,” the interviewer provided, eyes worried but voice calm and even.

The thought of Ramsay’s reply made Sansa shiver although Petyr had warned her of that much.

“Of course,” Sansa had replied, her voice sounding weaker than she wished it to.

“Has the CEO shown similar behaviour before, or did it all come as a surprise to you?”

“He has treated others similarly, unfortunately.”

“How come he hasn’t been reported yet?”

“It has been difficult, he is high in ranks, only recently getting the position as CEO of Bolx Banks, a respected man, it’s hard to go against someone like that, to be believed and not hushed down,” Sansa said, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes.

She had to stay strong, it was alright to show a bit of emotion, so much Ros had told her, but too much could also be too much for the people watching. Too much to handle. It was all too much to handle for herself, Sansa thought but that didn’t matter. Not in this case however. If she wanted to use this to her advantage, she had to play along accordingly.

It was a long and difficult interview, possibly the most difficult Sansa had ever experienced, and she had experienced a lot. Debates and questions that couldn’t even be well described with the word _rude_ , accusations given only because of her gender, her sex, lies and headlines covering the front pages. The turmoil after her parents had passed.

But this was different, it was intimate, private, and it had been secret for so long Sansa hadn’t even been sure she would be able to form the words when the moment would come.

It was both relieving to finally be able to say it, just as much as it was agonising, and as Petyr embraced her in her car on their way home - so to speak - she finally let all the tears that had built up during the day spill over, everything bottled up, the emotions she had had to reduce to only give a small percent of it all on screen, that all came out then and there, with Petyr’s body pressed to hers.

It was on wobbly feet she had made her way to her bed, not even bothering to care with toiletries that evening and had fallen asleep with her head in Petyr’s lap, tears drying on her cheeks, exhaustion finically winning her over and sending her into a dark oblivion, much more preferred than the company of the nightmares she might otherwise have been haunted by.

The next morning it had started again, Sansa was vaguely aware of it, all of the wheels turning behind her back, the plans made and the times Petyr wasn’t home, the times he was out doing only God knew what.

Before he had headed out that morning after the interview  she had felt his fingers trace her jawline, stroking her hair in a soft motion.

“I think it was good, reaching out to Brienne Tarth,” he had said, all of a sudden bringing _that_ incident back, and Sansa had only half registered what the words on his lips had meant.

It was still so early in the morning.

“Hm?” she had replied.

“You should meet again, I know how safe you feel when she’s around. It’s only natural she should be around more often.”

“It does sound nice,” she had said, sleep still heavy in her voice.

“You’re learning, my sweetling,” she thought he had said before he had left her side for the day she had drifted back to sleep.

When she woke it felt like a dream. The entirety of the previous day felt like that. Hard to distinguish from reality. Had it been real? Had she done it? Broadcasted her trauma in front of the entire nation?

 

* * *

**PETYR**

The drive was cold, and short but it gave him a moment to take a drag of his fag, the smoke soothing in his lungs. Killing him from within. Usually Petyr didn’t like cigarettes, but at times they made things easier, at times it was the reminder of how everything was changing, impermanent, that he needed. A constant reminder that possibly what he was doing, might be the end of him as well.

But not yet.

The plump man greeted him in the doorway, ever the unreadable face plastered on much like the mask Petyr wore on almost every day, every hour.

“Greetings to you, my friend,” he said as he passed and Varys raised one nonexistent eyebrow at him.

“And you,” he replied.

“When are they arriving?”

“ _I_ am already here,” a voice called, calm and soaking in false kindness.

“Margaery Tyrell, it’s a pleasure,” he said, nodding as a small imitation of a bow.

“Aren’t we done with courtesies?” she replied, showing off a brilliant row of teeth, her hands openly gesturing in front of herself.

“So, you’ve finally gotten a hold of the boy?”

“Why in such a hurry?” she was still smiling.

“Weren’t you the one to suggest we skip the small talk and jump right into business?”

A silence reigned, only Margaery’s smile was present.

“You are promising their safety?”

“It is, for the good of the nation, for Sansa’s best,” he replied, an answering smile on his face.

“Oh, such awful business, what she has had to endure,” Varys commented, “truly.”

“Much indeed, how is she?” Margaery asked.

“She’s in good hands,” Petyr said.

“I would much like to meet her.”

“All in good time,” he forced his smile to stick to his face, “now, show me to the boy.”

***

It was something with the echoes in the halls, the way every shoe, every step sounded as a hundred men. Perhaps it was intentional, perhaps that was the will of Cersei Lannister. Her aesthetic. Grandeur and not all too falsely threatening. Perhaps it was only the architecture.

Petyr had spent the afternoon talking to Bran Stark (“a pleasure, to finally meet you, Brandon Stark,” Petyr had said, “Bran,” the boy had replied, face as stubborn and stern as he remembered their father’s).

Neither of the two other remaining Stark children looked anything like their mother, leaving only Sansa the reminder of the Tully colours. It was better that way, for all of them, Petyr thought.

“Well,” the woman in front of him said, still seated behind her desk, a black and grey dress clad her body, her face as fierce as ever.

The Lannisters, lions until the very end. But lions were big, and even though they were cats they made too much noise, took up too much space. It was much better, to hide in the crowd, where even the most prying eyes would find it difficult to find him. They’d see the lions and decide they were the ones to blame. It was much better, being a bird.

Cersei Lannister’s emerald eyes were studying him, an almost invisible smirk playing on her lips.

She was all too daring, Petyr thought.

In so many regards they were alike, their interests and ambitions much the same, their motivation another. Yet their difference was everything.

Here they were, two people aiming for the top, facing each other. One the Prime Minister of England, the other only what seemed like another face in the MI5.

Petyr smiled in return as he sat down on the chair opposite her. That difference was exactly what he needed. It all lay in his favour.

“You once charged me with finding Arya Stark, and to my shame I failed you at that time,” Petyr leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap, “but this, is another time,” Cersei’s eyes were quickly back on him and Petyr repressed the pleasant satisfaction warming him from within, not letting it surge through his surface, “I have found her, alive and home again,” Cersei’s attention was all his, her eyes never even blinking as he continued, “and not only her, your Excellency,” he paused for the briefest moment, possibly he was enjoying it a bit too much, playing a bit more than he needed with the theatricals, “but the brother as well. Bran Stark.”

“That’s not possible.”

“My sources are well placed,” Petyr continued.

“They’re dead.”

“So we thought,” Petyr leaned back again, “you know what that could mean, having the Stark children gathering up again before the upcoming election,” Cersei was giving him a distrustful look, “don’t be so sure they’re not intending to help their sister replace you,” he said, his voice his usual drawl.

“They’re not a threat.”

“Arya is a witness, I think that makes her ever the threat,” Petyr said, a small reminder she might not even be in need of, he already had her right where he wanted.

“Is she in England?” Cersei’s voice raised, and after Petyr gave her the answering nod in return she sat silent for a moment, only to stand up and start pacing the room.

“Can you take her out? What, don’t look like that, you know she is a risk to our nation!”

“To your power,” Petyr corrected her.

“And yours, your involvement was of utter importance, don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

“What does my involvement matter, I’m only another agent, another blank face in the MI5. They’ll replace me. No one has ever heard of me, the public doesn’t know me,” Petyr could see her frustration, her outrage obvious in her face, “but you on the other hand, if they ever know about your involvement with the killing of Eddard Stark I can promise you won’t see the end of it until you’re locked up behind bars, where you’ll stay and die, probably, and if you get out it’s not unlikely a nutter will shoot you down himself. Let me instead propose another way, your Excellency.”

Cersei looked up from her feet, finally stilling her pace around the room.

“I’ll set up a meeting for the two of you, a trap for the girl, a deal she won’t be able to get out of. We can get snipers on her if she doesn’t agree to the terms.”

“What are the terms?”

“Does it really matter? I believe she is keen on meeting with her family again after several years away. I believe she would want to live a normal life with them, it’s easy. Stay silent - or die. I know what most people’s answer would be, and would it really matter,” Petyr said, his head slightly tilted, “what hers might be?”

 

* * *

 

**OLYVAR**

It wasn’t news to him, what Ros had to tell him. About the plans that Cersei Lannister wanted to carry out, taking down democracy and all. But there was more. Things he barely believed upon hearing them.

“I know you care about her,” Ros had said, “don’t even try denying it. I do too. That’s why it’s important, that’s why we have to do this.”

“But so does he,” Olyvar counted, doubt surging through him the very moment he had said it out loud.

“Does he care about anyone other than himself?” Ros replied.

It was difficult. Ros would never go this far if it wasn’t important, if it wasn’t going against all that she believed in - which was what? Littlefinger. They were all only the players of Littlefinger - but then things had changed. Sansa Stark had entered their home with her auburn hair, her kind smile and her moral philosophy, so far from Littlefinger’s world.

How was it that she had even made it under their roof? How was it that he could be so entranced by her - but weren’t they all? Hadn’t they all been just that? Entranced by her very being, the way she made all the edges soften.

Perhaps it almost came as a surprise to him when he had later gotten the task he had been assigned. The mission they were now all in on.

The man in the back of the van was still trying to scream, and thrash, even through the tape they had put over his lips, even though his body was bound and secured. There was no way he would be getting away, not on his own.

“This, I have to say, is fairly satisfying,” Ros said beside him.

“Sometimes I do enjoy my work,” Olyvar replied.

The chemistry between them had always been easy going, they had fitted into their work like the two missing puzzle pieces - but after their talk things had gotten slightly more stiff. A bit more formal, as if they were always a bit wary of the other.

What if it was a trap, what Ros suggested, the consequences that Littlefinger had figured out for him. What if it was to test where his loyalties lay? But it didn’t matter anymore. It was either over for him, or he had been granted a second chance - all thanks to Ros.

There truly wasn’t any other way, than to go along with it.

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

It was possible this was taking it too far. If believing Petyr: it wasn’t, and even though it was against everything she thought she believed in, she couldn’t deny that there was something about it. She wanted this. Perhaps it wasn’t only for her, but for Petyr as well. For what they had both endured. What they had both suffered. What they had fought through and survived.

Petyr had never told anyone about what had happened, but now Sansa had. She had told the world, whoever had wanted to listen, and her response had been amazing, kind, supportive. People reaching out to her, saying how inspiring it was to know that she wasn’t going to stay quiet about something like that, people giving her their support, giving _her Party_ their support, telling her how they through her story realised what was important. That she, by her honesty, made them believe her - and not the Lannisters.

It was much like Petyr had told her - to hear dread, and relief.

She fretted that sometimes, that there was a lot he wasn’t telling her - but then he had come clean, told her about Cersei’s plan to take down democracy. If that was true, it was not something to be taken lightly, and if so he truly had been occupied with that for a long time. He worked for the MI5, didn’t he? His work was to secure the nation, to work in favour of England and the United Kingdom.

The man in front of her was nothing, he meant nothing, and in this moment she felt nothing. He was her past, not her present.

Petyr Baelish was. She was. Together they were.

Petyr pressed his hand against hers, his fingers tightening in support. _“It’s the only way to end his career, by ending him,”_ Petyr had said and Sansa could barely believe she had accepted his proposal. It was for them, for the both of them. It was right? Wasn’t it?

Perhaps that was why she was now staring down at the man in front of her, one last time. Not even giving him a last moment to say anything for himself, not losing energy on trying to say anything to him. She turned on her heel, releasing her grip on Petyr’s hand and stepped away. Nodding in confirmation as she got into a car and was driven home - or was it home? Home to Petyr’s, however. A temporary home, nonetheless. A home she had come to enjoy, to like… to love.

When Petyr got home it was dark outside, the sun not shining over the rooftops any longer, the sounds of the city vague and buzzing. She didn’t have to say anything, he only closed the space between them, embracing her, his hands on her face as he searched for her approval. She nodded.

Whatever Petyr had said it was not just sex, it was more, it was everything to do with unspoken words, feelings repressed and sadness that had lingered within for too long. It was a relief, of the anguish of waking up yet another morning not knowing if she was to be kidnapped and imprisoned again, in her own home - all taken away. She would never have to face him again. Never fear him again.

Ramsay Bolton was gone, and even though her morals told her it was wrong, Petyr had insisted it was his idea in the end, that whatever happened would not be on her shoulders. The responsibility taken away from her. Sansa wasn’t sure it was right, a part of her wanted to tell her it wasn’t. That the knowledge alone was far more than she should be sitting on her still with her mind of steaming the country in the right direction. Perhaps that was also why she never asked what had happened to him, not then, and she wouldn’t later, and Petyr never admitted it, never confirmed his death - but she was sure of it.

Petyr’s touch was soft on her skin, caressing and taking all the time she needed, and she gave, in return, trying to give him all that she felt, all the relief, the gratefulness, all the hours, days, weeks, months of hurt and pain and the feeling of being alone and utterly useless, powerless. She put it all into her touch, and with touch they talked, caring for each other the way others hadn’t done for them before. The way they both deserved.

That night she crawled into Petyr’s bed, and for the first time he let her stay there, not carrying her back to her own room.

“Can I stay?” she asked, her fingers tracing his bare shoulder.

“You already told me you wouldn’t leave,” he replied.

“Indefinitely…” her voice was small and she swallowed, fearing his reply.

“You mean forever?”

“I guess I do… yes?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Stay, you may stay until you wish to leave,” he said, voice low, eyes the same colour as the moonlight.

“That’s all I wish for.”

Sometime, Sansa thought, sometime he might be ready to tell the world as well.

Sometimes it is better, to let things out rather than keep them within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading yet another chapter! This one was entirely and completely written by me alone, it is the first time I have not been able to lean on my fellow writer partner for this fic and for portraying Sansa, but I hope you liked it nonetheless - even though I'm sure my Sansa is sounding slightly different from @baedangillen (on tumblr)'s did. I would be extremely grateful for any kudos, and especially comments, it truly means the world to me. Anyhow, thank you for taking your time to read! Finally I'm reaching my (or rather Petyr's) goals, and so is Sansa - and soon you'll all know what has been in the planning and making from the start of this fic!


	14. His weapon of choice

_Chapter 14:_   **HIS WEAPON OF CHOICE**.

* * *

 

**PETYR**

The plastic that surrounded his body sounded noisily as he paced back and forth, he never liked being dressed like this, but on rare occasions, when he himself had to be present, it was only reasonable. There was no other way, if one wasn’t willing of leaving traces.

Sansa had left a few hours ago.

The man in front of him were bound to a chair, his feet forced together with cable ties and his hands locked at his back, the plastic fastened around them as hard and close as possible to his skin, probably cutting into it, leaving a red trace in its leave, possibly even scars. But they weren’t to leave yet, not in a long time.

It had been awfully easy, persuading Sansa to broadcast her story of the way Ramsay Bolton had treated her to the entire country, the world really. He only had to give her a few hints, a few words that made her believe it was her own idea - and it was a good idea. In this way she could finally be free of him, his chains on her shattered for good. She would never have to return to his hands and walk in the walls of their so called home.

Had she been Petyr Baelish, he wasn’t so sure she would have done the same thing. Petyr had used his experiences to make a name of himself, to use his charm and sexuality in order to climb towards the top. But Petyr had found a way Sansa could use this happening to her advantage as well. It might not have been the path Petyr had chosen for himself, but nothing was applicable on everyone. Everything differed depending on the circumstances. This was no exception.

This was an opportunity she couldn’t miss out on. Making Sansa believe that it was she who was the origin of the idea, would make her feel as if this was like closing a chapter of her life, finally being over and done with it. It would leave her feeling better, coming out stronger than before.

It was possible she would suspect him of having a bigger plan than what it might seem at first glance, after all he had told her that Ramsay would pay for what he had done to her. But she couldn’t have seen through it all. And however, she would probably not be so against the idea in a later state, when the worst wave had washed over, when the water stilled. Often it was easier to be alright with something if it was eased onto them rather than forced from the start. One only had to be patient.

Ramsay Bolton’s head was held low, hanging from his body as if on a loose string.

Olyvar walked up to him from behind, ripping off the tape from his lips, the noise ugly within the empty room of concrete.

“So we meet again,” Petyr said, feet still moving under him, pacing the room like wild animals walk around their prey.

“You can’t kill me,” Ramsay sneered, eyes not afraid, even though there was no visible way out, “there’s nothing you can do against me that won’t be able to be tracked back to you.”

“Oh, you tell me,” Petyr said, studying his nails for the briefest moment - he would have to clean them later that evening, “I haven’t been caught before.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t be this time.”

“I’m very careful.”

“My sweet wife was on the news recently, they’ll think-”

“They’ll _think_ someone thought it funny to attack you,” Petyr continued for him, “someone who thought it only right to get back at you after all those things you’ve done to their party leader,” he shook his head slowly, “not very clever, Ramsay.”

Petyr nodded towards Olyvar who stepped forward, almost silently and pushed at the chair, making Ramsay fall with a loud bang to the hard cold floor.

“You have been very careless,” Petyr continued.

“You won’t get what you wanted!” Ramsay repeated, “your business with my bank is over!”

“Pity your bank doesn’t see it as such. I’ve met with you beloved whore, that Myranda girl,” Petyr drawled, disinterest evident.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Of course not, but she means something to your bank, doesn’t she? Been given quite a few extra tasks, a bit more control than necessary,” he looked at Ramsay now, the muscles around his eyes making him look confused - oh, he was stupid.

“Only because you couldn’t keep your hands off her. A plaything is not to be mixed with business. I thought you knew as much,” Petyr said, letting his trademark smirk show, “only because you _liked_ to see her sign your papers,” he shook his head again, once, “not very clever.”

“Her handwriting is nice.”

“Is that so,” Petyr scoffed.

It had been so easy. With Sansa’s story out to the public, the waiting had only been through a few days and he had been able to pluck the man from his own office. It was the privilege of working for MI5 and to know and have access to the many CCTVs - and be able to fiddle slightly with it.

Olyvar and Ros had been chosen to take him with them, in a black van they had driven him to one of Ramsay’s own estate buildings, one of which he himself had liked to keep people locked up for his own pleasure.

This part was unnecessary, Petyr knew that, but nothing was more satisfying than the last conversation, the last words before they all realised they had lost all control. That their very lives were in his hands.

“I wish I could torture you,” Petyr admitted.

“Then do,” Ramsay said.

It was a challenge in his eyes, a challenge Petyr wanted to take on, but knew he couldn’t.

“This will have to do for now,” he said instead, walking up to the chair and getting Ramsay off from it, the plastic still hard around his wrists and ankles as he stood up.

Ramsay laughed.

“I knew you couldn’t kill me,” Ramsay chuckled, “I am cleverer than you think. You can’t say a regular, common person got me, they won’t believe it, no one would be going this far-,” Petyr didn’t stop to hear him finish his sentence, instead he stepped forward again, this time kicking him as hard as he possibly could in his groin, a muffled scream forced itself from Ramsay’s lips.

“Oh, harder!” he said, through his laughs, “you are just like me,” he continued, “you like it more than you want to admit!”

Petyr wouldn’t do much more, even if he wanted to. Power play was something, manipulation and cunning - but strength, physical strength had never been his weapon of choice.

“You are way too impulsive,” Petyr said, voice calm, a knife being given to him from Olyvar, “but I am not. I plan, I take aim, and I don’t miss.”

The final step forward was easy, a stab in his stomach, the knife struggling through the fabric for a moment only to sink greedily into the flesh that was hidden underneath. Ramsay’s eyes were as crazy as ever, the consequences of what would happen had still not reached him. He was way too busy with the present, not thinking ahead of himself. It wouldn’t surprise Petyr if Ramsay wouldn’t realise his ending even when his vision would blur, when he was close to fainting as he would bleed to death.

“Let’s start,” Petyr said, leaving the knife where it was, buried deep in Ramsay.

The next that happened had all been planned ahead, every single detail had been rehearsed. Petyr got into the van and was driven out from the estate by Ros.

It was true, what Ramsay had said, about them not being able to get away with any regular mad person to have overstepped, to have stabbed Ramsay to death - the cable ties would tell a different story. But that had been taken into account as well.

Olyvar stayed to greet a woman as she entered the building, another victim of Ramsay’s many games. She had been payed to do this job, stabbing Ramsay over and over. It had been a deal, a great one, done with another mad person. People were mad, and all too occupied with what was right in front of their faces instead of realising what might come for them afterwards.

Petyr would never have agreed to such terms as hers if he had been in her place. He would have thought about what could have happened next.

She was a prostitute, the girl who killed Ramsay, and she had no allegiances. There was no other way than to kill her. Death would pay off, with death he got her silence. War had its sacrifices. She happened to be one of them.

Petyr would have liked to stay, hitting Ramsay over and over but this had to be enough. If more damage was done before the girl arrived, forensics might realise something was off. There there were other players involved. He couldn’t have that.

When the police would find the banks CEO, Petyr had made sure that enough evidence would lie around him, around his home, his office, that no questions would be asked if Sansa’s story was true or false. Pictures of the girls he had tormented stacked in boxes, now relatively easy to find; traces of their blood, of other bodily fluids, it would all be there. They would be so occupied with Ramsay’s endeavours that the case of the girl who died of a bullet to her brain would be proclaimed suicide. After having her revenge she saw no way out than to die, herself.

She was left-handed, they had checked previous to the event itself, and Olyvar had been instructed to shoot her from her left side, close enough for the shot to have been aimed from her own hand.

Of course, nothing of this would play out until Petyr was placed somewhere public. His very being marching the halls of the Palace of Westminster, a meeting already in order with the Prime Minister herself.

Sansa Stark would be at his place, but before that she had been driven all the way there Ros had made sure to change place with the driver, someone from the outside, someone who - if anyone wanted to ask Sansa about her whereabout during the happenings, would be able to witness her innocence - only to be switched back to another one of his people: Armeca, who had driven the last part until she was safely behind his walls, Ros waiting for her if she needed someone to talk to.

When the news leaked, when they finally found the lost CEO of Bolx Banks it was only another few days later.

“How are we to save the economy, our economy, about everyone is connected to Bolx Banks and if people doesn’t want to be affiliated with them anymore they’re going to want to get accounts somewhere else, move their money… what about the stock sales, what about-”

“I assure you, your Excellency,” Petyr had interrupted her, her green eyes staring wildly at him, “that there is something we can do about it.”

“What? What do you think can ever save this sinking wreck Mr. Baelish?”

Petyr smirked.

“Why not say, let me take over the bank. With a new name, a new CEO… the people can rest. I have contacts that can reach Sansa Stark, prompt her into making an announcement. That the bank itself has nothing to do with her story, that she wish the blame is put where it belongs. With a dead man. With Ramsay Bolton gone the story is soon over, and the polls will change yet again to your favour. I’m sure.”

“You were always able to find ways,” Cersei said.

“There are always ways. One only has to reach out, and take the chance when opportunity is given.”

“When will my opportunity come?”

“Soon. It’s only behind the next door.”

 

* * *

 

**BRIENNE**

Brienne didn’t like it, but did it matter that she didn’t like it? If it - as Sansa Stark had insisted that it would - help her and her Party, it was the right thing to do.

The meeting between the two hadn’t gone as planned, but talked they had, and the conversation they had had wasn’t of any light weight. It was important, and it was important she acted accordingly.

Sansa had told her of a plan, a plan to not only make the Lannister’s party lose but to get the woman behind bars, locked up, gone from the world. She had asked about the man, of the brother: Jaime Lannister. It was not long ago that she had worked together with that man, or rather, have been forced to work on a mission together. But it had brought them together, however unlikely it had seemed from the start, and having to go separate ways had had Brienne asking if she hadn’t let him into her personal life, because wasn’t that what had happened - to the both of them, whether they’d have liked it or not? The two of them had grown together, working so closely had had an effect on the two.

Brienne’s connection with Jaime Lannister was crucial, or so Sansa had told her after having asked about him, and Brienne at first only giving vague answers, being unsure where the conversation had been heading, but after Sansa’s “do you trust me?” she hadn’t been able to do much than tell her about it, and soon she wasn’t worried any longer. The connection between her and the Lannister brother could help them filter into the center of the party: his sister.

“I will take matters into my own hands,” Sansa had insisted, her gaze sure and steady in front of her.

Even though they had been careful they hadn’t been careful enough. Ramsay’s men had been after them anyway - at least now he was gone. Thank God.

Brienne had gotten to work quickly after having been driven back home to her safe house. She didn’t like being a puppet of Mr. Baelish, but at least she did get tasks like these, outside of Petyr Baelish’s control of knowledge.

There was always something about that man, something vague, like a butterfly sweeping over a landscape, hard to trace if one’s eyes left it for only a second or two - but more than that, more calculating than the random pattern of a butterfly - maybe that was why Brienne had started to follow him. Turn up outside his house every now and then that she could sneak out her house and be sure no one was looking. That man was up to something, something that neither she nor Sansa could be sure of, or possibly ever knowing without catching him at it.

To her surprise she hadn’t seen the man she had thought she would see enter the building as much as she had seen other people’s comings and goings. Particularly one fair headed man and a woman sporting a shade not far from the Tully’s own auburn, they seemed to move in and out as if they themselves were living there instead of the shorter dark haired man she knew to be owning the residence in question. Where are you? What are you up to?

 

* * *

 

**PETYR**

The thought of the last weeks’ events made the corner of Petyr’s lips curve upwards. Even though there were some problematic features to them the events themselves would only lead to greater success. He was sure.

He didn’t know what was the better, having Sansa soon right where he wanted, or that his plans all seemed to fall into place. There was yet another thing, important if it was to work, another plan or rather a speculation; of Sansa reaching out to Brienne had worked exactly along his own. She had learnt, just as he had hoped, to take matters seriously, to put two and two together and realising the connections that laid available to her and using them. It was possible Sansa hadn’t quite realised as much yet, but he would make sure to let her know - and that sooner, rather than later.

It was crucial it was Sansa who were the one to reach out to Brienne. She alone could make Brienne trust her, knowing the Tarth woman she already did, and only through Sansa Petyr could control the strings, knowingly moving each pawn to whatever space he wanted and needed them.

It was a conscious decision, to have Tarth know his address, he knew she wouldn’t be using it because Brienne was nothing but loyal to the Starks, and she would not do anything but protect them if it so lead her to her very end. Letting Brienne know their position would mean that she alone would be the only one to know where Sansa was, leaving only his crew as the others who sat on that knowledge. If anyone were to leak the knowledge of Sansa’s whereabouts it would most likely be someone in his own team who where to be blamed. He couldn’t trust them, even though he had hand picked them into his inner circle, even though they were all in on his own doubtfully legal or fair plans. No one was to be trusted.

That was why they had all, each of them, been given a code name. It wasn’t only Littlefinger who was the bearer of one, but so were the five of them. “Squire” had just happened to be the one that Olyvar had been given, and it had been unfortunate that he had ever needed to use it.

Olyvar himself wasn’t aware of that name, of course, but the others were. They all were given the impression that they alone were the only one whom Petyr could trust, they alone were the one to given the code name for each and every one of their colleagues. If the worst happened, if someone of them stepped out of line, he would use it, and the others would know who was to be checked on. Who was not to be trusted.

The clouds were grey the day he caught the enormous woman, trusting she wouldn’t get caught she had stood still when he had caught her, body going into a small shock. Adrenaline probably the answer to why seemed as if she was unable to move, as if stunned by his very present.

It was a rather entertaining thought, a woman of that size being at loss at the sight of him.

“Not very good for a security guard of highest esteem,” he had said, voice sounding sleek as it carried over the vacant space between them.

“What do you mean?” Brienne Tarth had replied, changing her stance.

“Going completely still, not very efficient if I had taken to use… a gun, per say,” Petyr said, gesturing vaguely in the air, making his voice sound lazy, uninterested.

“What do you want?”

“I could ask you the same, standing outside my door. You have done so a number of occasions, actually. Don’t deny it. I’m fully aware. You know, I don’t remember having asked for any visitors at this hour,” he looked at his phone for the time.

“What do you want?” she had repeated - and so it was that she was invited, the plan put into motion as Petyr had gestured her to get into a car.

He noted her slight confusion, only a faint whisper of a crease between her eyebrows as the Aston Martin had taken them to another facility, only to be introduced to a brown headed person she was much likely to recognise.

“Mr. Stark?” she had said as the boy had turned his head.

“I’ll leave you two to it then, shall I?” he had asked, closing the door behind him and walking over to where the one sided glass window was.

Another man waiting for him at the spot.

“You might think yourself too clever for your own good,” the plump man said.

“Oh, don’t be absurd Varys, that would only make me a fool. Don’t mistake me for a fool.”

“Oh I wouldn’t, but I fear you do,” the man turned towards him, his gaze intent, “now what. You’ve what you asked for, if I know you correctly. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You’re accusing me ulterior motives? Don’t be daft Varys, this is my motive.”

It hadn’t been easy, locating the boy. It irked him, that Petyr still didn’t know much of where he’d been but it was through the Tyrells they had eventually gotten hold of him. _Studying abroad_ they had said. Not very likely. They were hiding something as well, it wasn’t only Petyr. So much he was sure of.

If possible Petyr would have liked to have done the business without the Tyrells, but the Tyrells had contacts - a social network of sorts that stretched further than what Petyr alone could manage without becoming a man known to everyone, but then again, if they had contacts - so did he, as long as he played his cards right.

The meeting did go as planned nevertheless, it needed a bit of work and Petyr considered that Tarth and the Stark boy would want more time alone to discuss their situation, probably trying to figure out on which side he was on, but on the other hand he was sure they would see reason.

As much as he wanted to make the Stark siblings reunite for the sake of Sansa he couldn’t, not yet. There was still too much at stake.

The best was yet to come.

*******

“Sansa,” he said later that evening, curling one lock of hair around his fingers, leaning down to breathe her in, his nose buried in her autumn colours.

Sansa looked up at it him, her head rested on his arm.

“What is it?”

“The destination is within your reach.”

“What do you mean?” her eyelashes, sprinkled with fire, moved sleepily.

Possibly he had woken her up from the lands of dreams.

“There is a way to break the Conservatives,” he could feel her twisting her body, her eyes not intent on him, “and it’s all thanks to you,” he continued, smiling as he searched her face, his fingers leaving her hair to caress her cheek.

“What are you saying Petyr?”

“Remember how I said you were brilliant for taking up contact with Brienne Tarth?”

“I don’t remember you putting it like that.”

“Oh, but you were. You see, Olyvar told me about your meeting, about the things he heard you say,” that was a lie, Olyvar hadn’t heard anything that Petyr knew of but it was a lie needed for Sansa to believe him, to not think that Brienne was the one who had told him behind her back - which she hadn't, either.

“Oh,” Sansa replied, “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”

“It doesn’t matter, sweetling,” Petyr continued, whispering into her ear, his fingers still stroking her cheeks, “I’ll help you set your plan into work.”

“You will?”

“Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make this the final chapter where they were finally reaching their goals but ack I had more things I wanted to add beforehand, hoping that by adding another chapter it'll explain things and in the end it will make more sense.  
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you're still enjoying it! We're slowly (not so slowly I am posting this, the fourth chapter on the fourth day of posting since 7 months back or something) but surely getting to the end of this! As ever I am delighted to receive kudos and comments, they mean the world to me and when knowing that at least some of you are still reading and following this story as it goes, it makes all the work worth it! Thank you!


	15. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives

_Chapter 15:_   **THE LONE WOLF DIES BUT THE PACK SURVIVES**.

* * *

 

**PETYR**

“Do you trust me?” he had said and he knew she did.

Now they were standing outside a room, the door just within his reach - and he opened it. Letting Sansa step inside as he undid the knot at the back of her head, the blindfold falling to the ground in a pool around her feet.

He took great pleasure from it, seeing the several emotions flashing before him, changing so very quickly; at first there was surprise, the shock making her go still, and then, the realisation, a quiver of her very being, the smile small not daring to believe.

Petyr had opened the door for her, and now he stepped back, closing it after him. He knew they needed time. There was a lot of catching up to do, and Sansa would want it, if not the others.

He wasn’t so sure, about the boy. Bran Stark was a curious boy, a cripple that had been able to hide himself from the surface of the Earth for many years. He _was_ good, and it was someone good they needed - but Petyr could only hope there wasn’t more to it. He would have to stay wary around him.

In a way Cat’s youngest surviving child reminded him of himself; the boy might not have been short like him, but he was at a disadvantage nevertheless. If ever he would be faced with weapons, if they ever tried to seize his body - he wouldn’t be strong enough to resist, to prevent anyone from stabbing him hard in the chest. Not much unlike Petyr Baelish he had had to find other ways around it. Using wits instead of force.

He was sure he had Arya Stark on a hook, that girl had a blood thirst stronger than his. _A list of names_ yes, it was impressive. _Naive_ some might have thought, _ambitious_ others could say. She didn’t speak much of it herself, but he knew he was providing an opportunity she could not miss out on. She simply had to take the bait.

In the meantime a meeting between Brienne Tarth and the twin brother Lannister had been set up. He had talked to Jaime Lannister, insisting that he might find it enlightening to pay a visit to the Fingers.

Jaime Lannister had never been famous for taking up any of the behaviour which was common with powerful men like him. Petyr himself suspected there had been a bigger picture, the rumours of the twins not simply a story to tell for gossip, but a truth; a truth that cut deeper, its wound infected, even more so than what people might have guessed.

“I’m not interested,” Jaime had said, his head only shaking the slightest, his body rigid and stiff.

But Petyr guessed there was something else, something that had changed after Jaime’s time away from the beloved sister.

“You might be more so than you want to admit,” Petyr replied, “I’ve booked someone larger than your usual taste.”

“Careful.”

“I believe there is an _oath_ to be _kept_ ,” Petyr continued, walking out the way he came, “I really must insist.”

Upon asking, Brienne Tarth had provided him with one word, a silly name for a handgun, an old revolver in glistening silver. It couldn’t be very efficient - Petyr thought, not compared to a machine gun or a sniper or a more adaptable pistol - but it seemed the wheel gun held some sort of sentimental value to the woman, and apparently so it would to Cersei Lannister’s personal security guard: _“Oathkeeper,”_ Tarth had said nodding once, _“he’ll know.”_

So here he was, getting out from his car and making his way down the tunnels of the Fingers. It had been some time since his last visit. It had used to be his favourite resort when he wanted to get his mind off things, not for his own pleasure, of course, but as a reminder of the power he held in his hands, that was buried as a network under the people’s very feet, under the rumble of the city’s own ground. The last time he had been here it had been to talk to Olyvar.

He opened the velvet curtains to meet the golden boy.

“Mr. Baelish,” he said, his voice curt but polite.

“Mr. Lannister,” the woman replied behind Petyr, Brienne Tarth almost brushed his jacket as she walked past him to enter the room, standing next to him instead.

“Brienne Tarth,” Jaime Lannister said, a polite nod her way.

“I’m sure you are aware of your sister’s plans,” Tarth stated.

“I’m not allowed into any of the meetings anymore, I’m fairly certain you’ve heard the rumors,” his gaze travelled briefly over to Petyr and then landed on Brienne Tarth once again, “the job as her security guard only leaves me-”

“There’s nothing that stands against you interfering,” the woman called out.

“I… “ he said, looking Petyr’s way again, “I am not included anymore- and tell me why are you here, why am I _really_ here?” he finished, his eyes not leaving Petyr.

Petyr smirked in return.

“Believe it or not but Mr. Baelish is on our side, on behalf of Miss Sansa Stark,” Tarth said.

“You work for us. For my sister,” Jaime’s eyes were hard on him, yet Petyr could undoubtedly see the confusion turning inside his head.

“Oh, I do,” Petyr finally spoke.

The fact that Sansa had realised the bond between Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister, that the two of them could play a crucial part in what was to come was, in itself, astonishing.

Jaime Lannister had grown soft with the years, Petyr noted, the way he stepped around the Tarth woman, the way he hesitated and was willing to walk away from his own, turn his back to the sister whom he had taken the job to defend through all of his life (and was that really so unlike himself?).

It was a gamble, letting Jaime Lannister in on the plan. Someone else might have thought it a foolish thing, but trusting that the twin brother’s loyalty didn’t lie only in the hands of the Prime Minister herself, well, it wasn’t a gamble. It was a game of chess, and this was Petyr’s move - perhaps Sansa’s, even.

Petyr let Brienne Tarth explain it for him, rightfully trusting that she would be the one to make Jaime see reason. The security guard might not trust a man like Petyr, not after having just admitted to working against the Palace of Westminster itself - but she, it was obvious he put his trust in her.

“A security guard to a security guard,” Jaime Lannister had said and so it was that Petyr had moved yet another couple of pieces.

The knights had moved, made way for him - and what was he? Which piece was he?

At a younger age he might have thought himself only a pawn, but that was too easy. Petyr Baelish wasn’t an easy man.

He was a bishop. A piece which inexperienced players would underrate, believing the knights to be the stronger pieces - but someone, someone who knew the game would realise the bishops’ importance; especially towards the endgame. Gaining in strength as the board got more and more spacious, leaving empty rows for the bishop to operate on.

Two knights would find it difficult to force checkmate. Petyr Baelish would not.

It wasn’t a gamble, not when knowing Jaime Lannister had been the one to clear the Prime Minister post for Cersei. If they only had realised then what a threat the Starks was to Cersei Lannister’s power. Cersei’s loyalty was with her family, with her now dead children. Her brother’s were with his morals.

It was a fickle game. Trust. Loyalty.

“Yes, I’ll help,” the man said at last, his posture as stiff as when he had entered the facility, “for the sake of the United Kingdom,” the Lannister continued his eyes now on Petyr, “not for him.”

***

When Petyr got back the Stark siblings were still within closed doors, not much noise was coming through but he suspected they were still talking. He didn’t know how much the two others were telling Sansa, but he had showed them the interview she had broadcasted with the hope that they would realise that some things might be better left unsaid - and with Sansa’s morals, and not to mention the fact that she was the party leader of the left wing; there were one or two things they simply couldn’t tell her, that could endanger the mission as a whole. He was sure Arya Stark wouldn’t want to miss out on her chance, and the boy seemed so nonchalant that it was possible he didn’t care which side would win. Hopefully the bond to his family was strong enough for him to know his place.

“I want to talk to you,” a silky voice said, quiet in the empty hall.

Petyr turned towards the man.

“You have a tendency to move like a ghost, my friend,” Petyr said, clasping his hands in front of him.

The man before him was clad in grey, the suit cut indistinguishable from any other businessmen. His black shoes shining beneath his stout body.

“I truly hope I’m not dead yet,” he said but his face wasn’t smiling.

Petyr could tell there was a question hiding underneath.

“That would be a pity, and a complete waste-“

“Waste of what?” Varys countered, “waste of assets, gold? No, I think I’ll have to consider myself lucky to not have fallen yet. The scavengers won’t be relenting if they come upon a body like mine, I’m sure.”

“I can’t believe your time is running out quite so soon. I can count on you, my old friend - or tell me, can I not?” Petyr asked, head tilted whilst Varys gestured him to follow into a smaller room, painted white and completely empty.

When the door closed behind them the larger man leaned forwards, his voice hushed and eyes worried: “I am only doing what is best for the country. Whatever is needed to bring her peace. I believe in Miss Stark, as do you, and I’m sure England will thrive better under the reign of Sansa Stark than under the powers of the lions. I do not cower under them. I am glad to know you’re finally able to see reason,” when he had finished he straightened up, nodding once, “that was all, until later,” and he opened the door and was gone.

Somehow the conversation brought another to his memory: _“Who doesn’t like to see their friends fail now and then,” it was Varys who had told him that too, several years ago, “I did what I did for the good of the realm,” and the words seemed so similar, so much the same as the ones that had poured from his mouth only a moment ago._

_“The realm? An ancient story we agreed to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it’s a lie.”_

_“What is left once we abandon the lie? Chaos. A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all.”_

_“Chaos isn’t a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail. Never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb but they refuse, they cling to the realm, religion or love. Illusions. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is.”_

There was something more going on, Varys would never point out the obvious otherwise. Was there a bigger picture which Petyr hadn’t been drawing himself? There couldn’t be, he had it all under control.

***

The day was decided and the future of the United Kingdom would be changed.

“You got it all under control?”

“Sure,” the brown headed boy replied lazily, his fingers moving quickly over the keyboard, “I got it - here, move to the other server.”

It took some time, but when the documents were printed with Cersei Lannister’s signature at the bottom there was nothing stopping them any longer.

The paper was still hot in Petyr’s hands. He couldn’t quite believe that he had gotten hold of it.

There was a scheme to take down the Crown, Petyr had known about it for quite some time. Cersei Lannister was not a great fan of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, much in contrast to most people in the Conservatives.

The paper in the hands of Littlefinger had Petyr her very life in his hands, for him to do as he pleased with.

Bran Stark and Daisy had worked for about a month on this specific case, or rather, Littlefinger’s people had worked on this for longer than that, but Bran was undeniably good at his work.

It only needed a few clicks or so - well, that was how it seemed to Petyr, it all went along splendidly, the documents sent out to others working at the MI5, to the police, to people that mattered, enough for it to be seen as a real and valid threat but not so many that it would seen as scam.

Petyr walked out of the room to get inside another, an empty one that would make it easier for him to talk without being disturbed.

“You’re clear,” he said to the mic, pressing his fingertips against the cold of the earphone.

“You have to be quick,” he continued, knowing that Arya was the one hearing it on the other side.

“I’m in,” the reply came, her voice, still a child’s voice, sent a shiver down his spine.

They were all still children, the Starks, and yet they all had more power than he had ever had in their age. Petyr didn’t have enough time to ponder about his lost past any longer, the message was clear even before Arya’s voice came back to him: “we have a problem.”

The problem was Cersei Lannister.

The plan had been to simply arrest her, or well - so the MI5 would think, so the police would think, so the DCI would think, and so would Sansa until they would all find Cersei Lannister’s body cold and unmoving at the halls of Number 10. An assassination, done by none other than Arya Stark - of course there wasn’t anyone who would suspect her, she didn't leave any traces. That was her speciality. That was why Littlefinger had hired her for the job.

It was all a rather clever plan, or so Petyr thought himself - but there was more at stake than that, and Littlefinger had been waiting for this moment.

There was something Petyr hadn’t told the others of, a final act of importance the others had been left out of; when Arya would reach the chamber in which Cersei Lannister was seated, Cersei had been warned, told that if she didn’t act her life could be at risk (of course the Excellency herself hadn’t realised just how much her life would be at risk, a pistol pointing at her - one bullet to her head, three to her heart. Arya Stark didn’t miss. Cersei Lannister would have died instantly). Instead of dying then and there Cersei would be giving Arya a choice: ‘shoot - and the Crown will die with me’.

There were five snipers, all placed to shoot at one single target: the Queen, the dragon Daenerys Targaryen, last of her name.

It was a choice Arya wouldn’t find difficult, but it wouldn’t be part of the mission, it was a factor that hadn’t been accounted for from her point of view. It was an obstacle she most likely would have to ask someone else about - well, she wouldn’t necessarily but it hadn’t been part of her job, and if it all went according to Petyr’s plan: Arya Stark would not be able to walk away from such an opportunity as this one right in front of her. She would shoot and Cersei wouldn’t have found the time to even open her mouth.

It would kill two birds with one stone.

There was a sound, a creaking sound like a door opening.

It took about a second for Petyr to realise that the door he had heard wasn’t through the earphone connected to the younger Stark sister - but inside this very room, the room he was standing on his own two feet.

In stepped a woman with hair long enough to touch her hip, in waves it billowed out around her, the colours still an echo of everything Petyr had had so, so close, just within his reach - but as he stretched out his hand to catch the fire, it burnt his fingers, leaving an ugly mark in its place.

He took the earphone out, disconnecting it. Leaving the two of them alone in the room.

“I’m assuming you weren’t suspecting this,” the voice was clear and light, and more beautiful than her mother’s had ever been.

“Sansa.”

 

* * *

 

**SANSA**

_Knock, knock, knock_ it sounded from the door, the wood old and almost creaking underneath the force from outside.

Tears were still drying on Sansa’s cheeks when the door opened, auburn hair flowing in the doorway.  
“Aunt Lysa…“

"Sansa dear,” she said ,”I wanted to speak with you, let us go for a walk."

“Yes, aunt Lysa,” Sansa replied, knowing there was no way she could get out of it.  
Lysa’s dress was a faint shade of blue, billowing around her as the wind caught it for a moment, letting it dance in the air. Sansa walked behind her, staying quiet, thinking it better to let her aunt speak first.

"How are you feeling Sansa? Tell me," Lysa said after a while, stopping only for a moment - enough for Sansa to take one step forward and them being in line with each other, Lysa’s hand resting on the small of her back, pushing slightly as if leading her way.

“I feel dizzy to be honest. What happened back there - it was nothing Aunt Lysa, I swear!” Sansa exclaimed, thinking it better to have it out of the way.

It was probably why Lysa had wanted to meet her anyway.

"Yes, he's very kind, Petyr, he's very sweet, to sweet for this wicked world. Don't tell me lies Sansa, I saw you, I heard you," Lysa grabbed her arm.

The grip on Sansa wasn’t firm, it was hard, harsh on her skin. Vaguely Sansa registered Lysa leading her up the stairs, past all the people and the heavy noise from the party.

“Whatever you think you saw it wasn’t like that- you’re hurting me!” but the words were useless on her tongue, her aunt’s grip only strengthening but her own lips sealed.

When she opened the door that led outside to the roof Sansa felt the panic gripping at her, hard around her the same way Lysa’s fingers were curled around her arm. The cold wind whipped their faces, the leaves dancing beneath them.  
"Don't lie to me!” Lysa’s voice was not angry, it was exasperated and Sansa didn’t know if she could ever calm her down, “I saw you, I saw you with my own eyes!" and then she was shoving her towards the ground, the contrast to her firm grip around her a complete surprise to Sansa and her legs failed her, her body hitting the ground - the roof - heavily.  
"You enticed him, just like your mother, admit it! What else have you let him do to your body?! What have you let Petyr do?!" she screamed at her.

“Nothing Aunt Lysa. He’s never done anything to me. He loves you, he told me himself!” Sansa said, the words tumbling out through her lips.

She wasn’t even sure if that was true, the echo of his lips against hers still lingered in her mind, on her skin, but the words spilled easily from her - even if she wasn’t sure she believed it, even if it was a lie, there was not much else that she could say.  
“Please let me go!”

"I will not! Don't you understand?! You're just like your mother, you're just playing with him! But he's not yours, not Catelyn's, he's mine! Don't you see? We were meant to be together, you think I could forget? I gave him comfort, your mother didn't, I did! It was the sweetest pain, he told me he loved me, calling me Cat, and even so I stayed with him through the night. Your mother never deserved him. I was meant for Petyr, I'm telling you so you'll understand how deep our love is, how long we've suffered to be together again! No one stands between Petyr and I, no one!"

“I understand. I’m sorry. I will never stand between the two of you,” Sansa tried, Lysa’s words sounding like the screams of the wind and Sansa didn’t know how to calm her, the only way she could come up with: saying whatever she thought would stop Lysa’s wails, preventing her nails now digging into her skin.

"Do you know what happens to bodies that crash onto the ground from tremendous heights?” Lysa asked, a hysterical laughter bubbling up from her throat, “your body will never meet the looks of it but it would be enough to break you, enough to crash your skull!" she continued, finally loosening her grip on her arm again and for a moment Sansa thought it would be over - but she had been wrong, instead Lysa took a hold of her hair, by forcing moving the two of them closer to the edge of the building, the rooftop meeting the air and her aunt pushed at her head, forcing her to look down towards the ground, several floors down.

"You whore, you slut, you kissed him! Liar! Look down, look down, look down!"

Sansa wanted to scream, but no words came forth, she wanted to cry but her eyes felt dry, her body empty. She was scared, and she wanted to close her eyes, but the fear made her eyes stay open, locked with the hard ground so many feet below them. Was this the end? Would she meet the same destiny as her father? As her siblings might have already? At the hands of her own aunt?

"Lysa!” a voice called from behind, matching the sound of the wind, but less mad, less of a scream and rather like a rumble, “what's the meaning of this, I couldn't find you... who's this?" the voice continued, its calm now so very different from Lysa’s howls, "Sansa... what's the trouble here?"

Sansa didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to try to look at Baelish. She trusted the dark had made it difficult for him to tell who Lysa had been talking to, possibly the wind had carried away their voices, making it hard for him to distinguish what the fuss was all about.  
"Her!" Lysa called, and Sansa could feel her hair being grabbed at even harder, as if Lysa was indicating with her fist itself, “she's the trouble. She kissed you!"  
"Lysa, let her go..."

“She _kissed_ you Petyr! She wants to play with you!”  
“Please help me,” Sansa whispered, tilting her head just the slightest to get a look at the man behind them, tears rushing down her face.  
“She wants to play with you just like Cat did! Can’t you see I’m the only one who cares for you?!” Lysa continued beside her.

"Let her go. Let. Her. Go, I swear to you, we'll send her away, back to London, back to the Lannisters, I swear. Let her go," the slender man continued and Sansa wanted to scream.

She couldn’t go back, not now. She was supposed to be safe here, Petyr Baelish was supposed to protect her. They couldn’t send her back, they couldn’t simply hand her over to the Lannisters - and just like that: Lysa let her go. The force which had now been dropped made Sansa fall to her knees, silently thanking God that she didn’t lose her balance and fall off the edge herself.

“Oh, Petyr!” Lysa cried behind her.

She looked towards them, Baelish had walked up to Lysa.  
"Come here,” he said as he held out his arms.

Lysa stepped into his embrace, his hands rested on her back as she cried on his shoulder.

"Oh my sweet wife, my sweet silly jealous wife," he said, and Sansa was sure she could hear him chuckle as he stroked her aunt’s back in comfort.  
"I've only loved one woman, my entire life. Trust me, I promise you that," he said.

“Only one? Oh, Petyr, do you swear it? Only one?” Lysa said, her tears stopping as her face lit up in a smile.

"Only one,” he continued, pausing for a moment as he walked them over to Sansa, his eyes not leaving Lysa’s face, “your sister."

The man shoved her hard, a short sharp push and Lysa fell down. Sansa only caught the surprise on her face for a mere second before she was gone. Tumbling down the edge of the building.  
"Sansa..." Petyr Baelish said as his attention finally turned to her - still, on the ground, shock pounding through her like waves crashing on the shore.

"Here come, let's get you back inside. It's freezing out here.”

 

It was a long time ago, but the memory had stirred something inside of her, made her realise that the words that were being spoken in the room could all too well be true.

That was how it all started. Not how Petyr Baelish started, but what made her realise what she had closed her eyes to for several years - especially those last months she had spent in his vicinity.

“You witnessed it,” Bran had told her, his brown eyes insistent.

 _You know he has killed before_ Sansa’s mind had filled in for her.

She had known it was true, but it had been different, so very different from what the words around her had tried to tell her. He _had_ killed before, he _had_ pushed her aunt down the building - but it was all for her, for Sansa. If he hadn’t, she could have been dead. But she wasn’t, and aunt Lysa was.

It wasn’t all her brother had told her. It didn’t even start like that.

From the beginning it had been Olyvar and Ros, she hadn’t believed them.

“There is a plan,” Ros had said, “a plan to take over after the Lannisters have fallen and the Queen’s heart has stopped beating. A plan to get hold of the power through you.”

She hadn’t thought that true. Petyr wouldn’t use her, not after everything she had been through, not after all they had talked about. Together they had freed themselves from the chains of their past.

It had taken the voices of both Brienne and her siblings to finally move her, make her trust them, believing the words she still didn’t want to think true, not even now, facing the man she knew had betrayed her.

“Sansa,” he had said and Sansa and tried hard not to run into his arms that very moment, to let her head rest against his and trust his soothing whispers.

 _“I wished to be somewhere else. Back then I only thought of what I wanted, never of what I had. I was a stupid girl,”_ she had once told Petyr but she wasn’t a child anymore - she couldn’t even pretend that she was.

She was running for the post of the Prime Minister. She had grown. She did learn.

“I can explain everything,” he said, “I gave you Cersei Lannister. They are the ones who were behind the murder of your mother. Of Catelyn,” he continued but Sansa had already learned that much.

“Cersei Lannister is never going to be Prime Minister again,” she said, her voice unwavering.

“Good. Your sister is skilled.”

“No one has died, Mr. Baelish,” she could see his eyes flickering towards the door once - as if he was still looking for a way out: he would find none, none unless she gave it to him, “I assume you knew how good my brother was. Unfortunately, for you, he is a black hat. A hacker. He says he’s doing it for the good of the society - the world even, or so he claims,” Sansa studied her shoes for a second: black, sleek, a small dot of dust on the right one, she would have to get rid of it later, high heels, “but knowing you, these are of no news to you. My brother is the Third Eyed Raven. So he calls himself. I didn’t even know he was alive before you introduced us again the other day. So don’t fret; Cersei Lannister is under arrest, my brother has enough evidence against her as it is. She will not make it back to her post as the party leader. Anyway…” Sansa continued, her eyes not leaving his face, a few feet away from her, “this wouldn’t be the first time. I bet it’s easy for you, taking lives.”

“It was only to protect you.”

“You lied in court,” she reminded him.

“Lysa committed suicide.”

“Jon Arryn,” Sansa stated matter of factly, “you had Lysa poison him.”

“She was a troubled woman.”

“But then you had aunt Lysa send out a letter to my parents telling them it was the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn instead. The conflict between us and the Lannisters, it was you who started it.”

“It’s a conflict between two parties, it has existed for a century, that’s nothing new.”

Sansa knew better though. Her father hadn’t even interfered with politics before that.

“You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray my father Ned Stark, thanks to your treachery he was murdered. Yes, we found the supposedly destroyed ‘classified’ documents. Sure, it was a long time ago. Let’s instead talk about a recent event,” Sansa took a brief moment to collect herself, “a part of me knows there was more to it than getting revenge, when you had Ramsay killed,” she forced herself to say his name, it was difficult, even now, and it probably would for a long time forward - but at least he was gone now, at least he would never hurt her, or anyone else again, "it was your idea, the marriage," she said it even though she knew he had never known what Ramsay had been capable of, “I know you, Petyr Baelish. Possibly more so than you know yourself. There is two sides to a coin, and either you keep it or you throw it away. Everyone around me seems to want you gone.”

Like a parasite who clung to its source, desperate to avoid the final moment, of his life, their relationship or power, she wasn’t sure. But so was she, longing to prolong their time. Time was limited, she couldn’t stretch it, but his time she had in her hands. His fate belonged to her.

“Is this how it ends?” he asked her, and one single tear fell down his cheek, a contrast to the complete black attire that clad his body, hugged it in a perfect cut.

Sansa didn’t think she had ever seen him cry before.

Perhaps it was a part of his act, or perhaps it was in acceptance, that even the part she had realised he had created for protection, that didn’t want to feel - now could.

“Sansa, I beg you,” he said, falling down on his knees and she had never seen a sight so pathetic, yet so full of emotion, as if the feelings that tumbled inside him were too much to bear.

Once he had told her he would embrace death once it came upon him, that he wouldn’t stop her from having him killed. But it was a different time now, she knew it as well as he. She could feel it, in the air in the room, the look on his face, the pressure inside her own chest.

“I loved your mother since the time I was a boy,” and there it was, defeat evident in his eyes.

His words finally admitting what had been kept within for so long.

“And yet you betrayed her,” Sansa’s voice was cold, possibly distant but she could feel a mirroring tear running down the side of her face nonetheless.

“I loved you,” he said, low and full of intent and she knew he meant it, for the first time she could hear it coming from his own lips and only in that moment, what could so easily be their last had he been able to say it, “more than anyone,” and his voice broke on the last words.

“And yet you betrayed me,” Sansa continued and she saw the air leaving his body, the energy slipping away.

 

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE**

The Labour party’s polls went up, the Conservatives’ trust went down with Cersei Lannister who was safely locked up in prison, probably wouldn’t see sunlight the same way again, ever. It would take a while before the new candidate would be announced. It was bad for the party, changing party leader so close before the election - but the Conservatives simply had no choice.

Sansa was on her uprise, with Petyr by her side.

It took some time, build on what had almost been lost, trying to get up and get out of it stronger and better than before. It was odd, knowing he was alive and thriving all thanks to Sansa. She had given him a second chance. A chance _he_ hadn’t been able to resist.

A part of him, Littlefinger probably, wanted to say that it was still under control. That it was he, not Sansa, who had made sure he hadn’t gone down with Cersei. That it had been his plan all along, to filter into her heart and making it impossible for her to let go. But Petyr knew better than that. He knew he had opened himself up to Sansa just as much. Let her fingers stroke the heart he had thought he had abandoned long ago.

Once upon a time Petyr Baelish had been a little boy, believing the fairytailes his foster family had told him. He had hated endings with all the might he was able to, despised them and left the company of the others before Brynden Tully had reached the final sentence of a story.

He wasn’t all too different from back then, not really. He had thought he would feel empty, when his moment would come; when his time was up, as if he would be glad that his ending had finally come. Instead he had felt panic surge through him, pathetically he had tried to stay afloat on a ship he knew was sinking.

It was a miracle, that he was still alive.

But it wasn’t him, but Sansa Stark who had preceded him. The apprentice had become the master, after all.

Sansa knew that there were few who could use their intellect to set up schemes the way he did, she knew he held the strings to so many important people that it would only serve her better to have him alive (he was the new CEO of Bolx Banks, after all, he still operated beneath the grounds through the Fingers. Someday he might not be needing it anymore, someday he might come clean of it all).

She had told him why she hadn’t killed him then and there - which Petyr could bet about everyone else had wanted her to.

“At the beginning you were nothing but insignificant,” Sansa had told him, “yet you got yourself on top, working with the Conservatives and the Labour party behind their backs. You’re not going to die yet,” the words somehow making another shameful tear spill out of him, “you once told me that when you were faced with a decision you closed your eyes and you saw the same picture.”

“Whenever I consider an action I ask myself,” Petyr continued for her, repeating the words he had already told her once before, “will this action help to make this picture reality. Pull it out of my mind and into the world,” he paused and her eyes weren’t leaving his, “and I only act if the answer is yes. The picture of me, on the throne, and you by my side,” he swallowed when he had finished - the mention of it now made it so evident what his plans had been from the very start.

“It won’t be the same, of course,” Sansa had said, “we won’t ever get the _throne_ \- but I can get the Prime Minister post, and you’ll help me get it. Why? Because your beliefs are not so far from my own.”

It was true, and Petyr relished in the way her wits had gotten better, sharper over the years, as she explained to him the things about him he already knew of. That being Petyr Baelish, naming himself Littlefinger to point at the very name Edmure had given him as a reference to his background and short stature as a boy - it was because of that Sansa had realised his goals weren’t necessarily so different from hers. It was because of their time together, the many years spent in each other’s company that she had observed, and concluded.

She knew he had wanted chaos, she knew he had wanted a different system, one where she thought he wanted the common people, anyone, to be able to become anything.

It wouldn’t be the same, of course, going through with the system Sansa Stark preferred but it could change the world, stir it to move in _his_ direction as well.

Not through chaos - but perhaps their dreams weren’t so very different.

Perhaps Sansa’s picture was similar to his.

“You’ll be fine alone,” he had assured her, and finally realising that he wasn’t afraid to die after all.

“I don’t need you telling me so anymore,” she had answered, a smile spreading on her face, “when the snows fall and the white wind blows,” she said, it sounded like a poem, “the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives,” and she smiled Petyr’s way.

The little hero always beats the big villains in the stories.

“You are not alone anymore, Petyr Baelish… Littlefinger,” Sansa said, his thoughts scattered, “but neither am I,” and Petyr smiled, a smile that reached his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this was the last chapter of this fic. On the 24th of October last year me and @baedangillen (on tumblr) started this fic - changing it from a RP to a written story. In November we posted the first chapter. On Halloween 2018 I posted again, this time without my writing partner beside me and today our work is finally done, finished - over.  
> It was difficult writing the ending, in a way I've always found it difficult to see a world where Petyr Baelish is alive, but I wanted to make it different from the tv-series, so here we are (and I do think Petyr Baelish could be a good ruler, and definitely a good adviser).  
> Thank you so much, to anyone who has read this fic, to all of you who were there from the start supporting us and cheering at us, to all of those who stuck with us and every one of you who might have joined later - or have read this once it was all finished. It means the world to me, to us both (me and baedangillen), I am sure.  
> I would as always, but especially now seeing as it's finished, appreciate a word or two in the comment section, I'd be grateful for the "simplest" thing (nothing is too boring, too simple or too whatever it is, knowing anyone liked it or thought something of it means so, so much), and all kudos and even hits means so very much.  
> A short mention and credit to @baedangillen who used to write Sansa; this is the last chapter but it also includes one last dialogue where they were the voice of Sansa - i.e the flashback to Ireland, Sansa's dialogue lines are written by baedangillen, I have later been the one to finish the draft.  
> Thank you for reading and I hope the ending was fairly satisfying at least. I left a few things unsaid, partly an open ending. May you take the freedom yourself to decide whether they'd someday become a couple out to the public, or what happened with every other character - if Sansa won the election.  
> Take care of yourselves, know that you are worthy and that you deserve it all. That anyone can become anything.  
> -A final thank you to GRRM and affiliates of Game of Thrones and the actors (especially of Petyr Baelish and Sansa Stark) who inspired me and @baedangillen to write together, it has been a journey in itself that I'm so glad to have been part of.


End file.
